


a slow unravelling

by firewoodfigs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Child Abuse, Mentions of Racism, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Alternating, References to Alcohol, Xingese Roy, Young Royai, character study of riza hawkeye, character study of riza's mom, character study of roy mustang, slow burn??, some grumman vs Armstrong rivalry going on, with accompanying art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs
Summary: Long before they became the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk’s Eyes, they were just innocent children with their own tales and tragedies to tell.//Chapter 6: Roy ventures out to town in an attempt to make new friends. Along the way, he finds out that Miss Hawkeye has a secret admirer, and when he sees her being trapped in a less-than-ideal situation he attempts to intervene and help her out a little.He scrunched his face in confusion. So they were talking about the same girl, after all. No doubt her mother had been quite the charming lady, but to be honest, it was nearly impossible to draw the resemblance between Miss Hawkeye and what little he remembered of her mother. Roy couldn’t see anything beyond the taciturn, pint-sized urchin who avoided him like the plague and looked like a boy; with a fringe as crooked as the horizon above the Drachman mountains. To think that even she had a secret admirer… she’d probably butcher the boy alive with a cleaver if she ever found out.
Relationships: Berthold Hawkeye & Riza Hawkeye, Berthold Hawkeye/Riza Hawkeye's Mother, Chris "Madam Christmas" Mustang & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 60
Kudos: 73





	1. a reunion and a rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Riza's first encounter, in a bar we all know and love.

Two children ran around the fireplace situated on the second floor of Madame Christmas’ gaudy bar. One was a girl with loose, wavy tresses that fell to her waist; the butterscotch strands standing in stark contrast with the amethyst purple of her irises. Her name was Vanessa. Running away from her was a boy with unkempt hair the colour of obsidian with eyes to match, although there were a few parts clumped together awkwardly at present. His name was Roy Mustang, and at the tender age of nine he was already confident (or perhaps egotistical) enough to believe that he was indeed destined for _greatness_ as his aunt often declared, although he was currently busy escaping from the cursed gunk in Vanessa's hand - otherwise known as hair gel - at the moment. 

“Shut up, kids!” his aunt roared gruffly, the noise from above starting to get on her nerves.

At her behest, the commotion upstairs quelled slightly, though not without a few muffled objections as Vanessa finally caught up to Roy to thread her unskilled fingers through his scruffy hair. “Let me, or I’ll burn your stupid alchemy books, you nerd,” she demanded, glowering at his stance of hesitant surrender. 

"Ugh, what's the point, anyway?" he grumbled. "Can't you go find someone else to be your victim?" 

"You don't get it," she retorted, ire flashing in her violet eyes as she lunged forward to grab him like a vulture catching its prized prey. But just as she was about to repeat the torture she had in mind, the bells resting resting atop the mahogany door below chimed to acknowledged the presence of two guests.

_Saved by the bell!_

Taking advantage of Vanessa's momentary distraction and surprise, Roy deftly wriggled out of her merciless hold and ran for his life, looking every bit like he'd stuck his finger in a socket. And before she could catch up to him to ruin his look further he'd already rushed to the nearest bathroom to douse his hair in water, despite her disgruntled protests.

~x~

Downstairs, a lady dressed in a fine, crisp ivory dress appropriate for an upper-crust social event entered gracefully, blonde hair tightly braided and perched elegantly atop her left breast. To her right was a petite child with golden hair that fell to her shoulders, bangs framing her delicate face. Her small hands gripped her mother’s as her wide eyes took in her surroundings, startled by the unfamiliarity of it all.

“It’s been a long time, Madame.”

Her cigar nearly fell to the floor. “What brings you here, Victoria?”

Victoria Grumman sighed as she reached out for a luggage containing the remnants of a distant, opulent past. “Before anything, please promise me you won’t tell Father anything about me coming here.” She wasn’t oblivious to the difficulty of said request, of course, given Christmas’ assigned role as her father’s covert informant. But she’d always trusted her; placed a level of faith in her that she hadn’t even invested in her own parents, even. And so she hoped for the best, praying that the sincere plea in her eyes would be enough to invite her acquiescence.

That, coupled with her sudden arrival - she clearly had no business being in Central; not after she had gone and effectively estranged herself from all of her living relatives. Surely, the fact that she was even _here_ now must have spoken volumes.

Christmas managed to give a small nod to indicate her unspoken promise despite the fact that she was still reeling in shock. Damn that sly little _fox_ , bloody hell! Grumman might’ve given her explanations, but she was painfully aware that the old man had only fed her bits of the full picture in his poor retelling of what actually transpired.

In any case, she’d always held a soft spot for Victoria, and to simply ignore the desperation in her bright eyes would be nothing but outright cruelty. “Fine. Take a seat, you and the child. What’s her name?”

As she turned around to prepare drinks for them (tequila for herself as well, because she could already feel the impending headache), Victoria lifted her daughter up to settle her onto the stool gently before taking a seat in front of the bar counter herself.

“Riza Hawkeye. She’s seven now, but Father doesn’t know. So… classified information, yeah?” Christmas turned back with their drinks, nodding again to reinforce her prior undertaking. Wordlessly, she pushed the one of them towards Victoria, who hardly needed any encouragement. With the practiced ease of someone who might have once been an alcoholic, she downed the shot immediately, waiting for it to do its job of loosening her up as she asked for another drink. 

“So… what brings you here, all the way from the countryside?” 

“Well… I’m in a bit of a pinch right now. And I thought I might have a better chance of selling these in Central, rather than in Tobha,” and she opened her luggage, somewhat proudly displaying her admirable collection of luxurious satin gowns. “I don’t really know a place where I can sell these, and I don’t have much time to do so because I don’t want to make my presence known here. So I thought we could do each other a favour?”

“Like buy these from you?” 

_Straightforward as always._ Victoria smirked fondly. 

“Yeah, or help me sell it to a third-party, whatever. Thought it might look good on your girls though,” she remarked, shrugging casually to hide her inner anxiety at the Hawkeyes’ increasingly tight finances. One of the pretty bartenders served up another cocktail at that moment, which she gratefully accepted. Taking a sip, she picked up the lone dart that had been lying innocuously on the table top to twirl it between her right thumb and index finger while awaiting an answer.

Christmas frowned at the strange request. It was almost unthinkable that the vain and glamorous woman she’d once known as a youth; the lady who thought in terms of slim, tapering waists and glittering diamonds, could bear to part with her precious dresses. Which only meant that… 

Something awful must have happened to drive her to such a state. 

A million questions pounded through her migraine as she alternated her gaze between Victoria and her sombre-looking child (who had now taken to keeping her eyes trained to the polished wood of the table top, all the while keeping her back ramrod-straight like she was military-trained). What on earth happened? Had she been coping well? God, if she was richer, she would’ve been more than willing to donate a lump sum, if it meant it could tide her through whatever difficulty she was facing (although Victoria, ever prideful, would never have accepted any form of charity). Did Grumman ever try contacting her after she’d left? And…

Before she could voice any of them out loud, a loud _crash_ reverberated throughout the bar as two dishevelled and exasperated children came tumbling down the stairs. “What the hell are you two brats doing here?” 

Roy gulped at her angry tone. Quickly, he climbed out from under his Vanessa and opened his mouth to apologise frantically, mind scrambling for a way to salvage the situation. But his feeble attempt to do so was interrupted by an unfamiliar laughter. 

Turning around to look, his mind finally registered the fact that he’d just embarrassed himself thoroughly in front of guests. Roy flushed scarlet, ashamed. Naturally, he could be quite a rascal as most boys of nine were, but his aunt had emphasised the _rules of being a fine gentleman_ since day one.

Rolling down the stairs and disgracing himself with an ugly, terrible hairstyle in front of strangers definitely did not form part of said rules.

“That’s quite alright. What’s your name, boy?” Victoria asked. Roy looked away before muttering his name, if only to avoid eye contact and save what was left of his dignity. As he did so, he noticed a girl who looked slightly younger than him cowering slightly behind the lady’s back.

Next to her charismatic, almost ethereal, expertly dolled-up mother, the girl looked decidedly plain and quiet, decked in her plain white t-shirt and slightly worn out denim skirt. _At the very least, though, a girl who doesn’t chase me with a wretched substance in her palms..._ He stared at her with mild curiosity, wondering what business a child had in an establishment like his aunt’s. 

“Wow, you’re really pretty!” Vanessa chimed in, earning a chuckle from Victoria before she graciously accepted the compliment. “I’m Vanessa! What are your names?”

“It’s nice to meet you two, Roy and Vanessa. I’m Victoria, and this is my daughter, Riza.” Riza waved back shyly, hesitant to make any further interactions with these new strangers that had come out of nowhere.

Sensing her daughter’s discomfort, Victoria quickly turned back to the transaction at hand. “Anyway, we got a deal, Madame?” She attempted to reach out for a cigar now that she was done with the alcohol, but a stern voice - unmistakably Riza’s - prevented her from doing so.

“No smoking please, mother.” Victoria smiled and nodded, placing a gentle hand on Riza’s back whilst still twirling the dart in the other.

“Yeah, we do. Why don’t you two rest here for a bit? I’ll look through what you have and estimate how much I can give in exchange.” Christmas came out from the counter to look through her pile of dresses, scrutinising and appraising each of them carefully under the thin, yellow light. The way it refracted off the decorative rhinestones was certainly quite a sight to behold, and it spoke volumes of Victoria’s good taste and wealthier past.

Roy and Vanessa, on the other hand, sighed in relief. Though it probably hadn’t been intention, the distraction that the captivating lady provided had, mercifully, saved them from another incensed tongue-lashing. 

“So, tell me a bit more about yourselves,” Victoria flashed them a winning smile, subtly nudging Riza from behind her back to let her know that she was invited to the conversation too. Her daughter tended to be a bit of a wallflower, and the events of the past few days only served to aggravate that. At this, she couldn’t help but groan inwardly. God, what kind of mother was she? Bringing her to an unfamiliar and foreign environment surely didn’t help to alleviate the stress that Riza must’ve been feeling…

“I’m Vanessa, and I’m ten! I like all things pretty and sparkly,” who was already leaning excitedly towards all the dresses laid out in front of her.

“I’m Roy, and I enjoy alchemy.”

 _“_ _Nerd,”_ Vanessa complained sullenly, still somewhat disgruntled that her mission had backfired on her miserably. Roy’s attempt to erase any evidence of said mission had only made things worse, to be honest. Unable to withhold her disgust, she made a sound in the back of her throat at his unsightly hairdo.

“I’m not a nerd! Alchemy is cool!” He huffed indignantly, crossing his arms.

At the mention of _alchemy,_ Riza tensed up immediately, shoulders stiffening and fingers clenching her knobbly knees. Fear and shame clouded her eyes. Despite her mother’s reminders that not all alchemists were like her father, or some of his weirder apprentices (who, in any case, generally failed to make it past the second week), the poorer examples she’d had the misfortune of crossing paths with had the most unfortunate effect of convincing her otherwise. 

“Elizabeth,” Victoria called softly, whispering soothing platitudes into her flaxen tresses. “It’s okay.”

Christmas, ever sharp and observant, didn’t miss their little interaction. “Oi, Roy-boy, didn’t you say there was a new cake shop down the street?” He nodded excitedly in response, like most young boys his age with an insatiable appetite and a sickeningly sweet tooth.

Thankful for the distraction, Victoria sent a brief, grateful look her way before turning back to her child. “Oh, why don’t you go check it out and see if there’s anything you fancy, Riza dear?”

Her eyes widen, as if to say, _with him?_ Victoria nodded in response. She had some things to discuss with Christmas in private too, anyway, and it would probably be good for her daughter to explore Central a little with a boy who seemed capable of proving that not all alchemists were _shitty_ people. 

“Go on - you’ll take care of her, won’t you, Roy?” She smiled gently at him. If he was raised by Christmas, then he probably was a decent child, at the very least.

“Ah - yeah, sure,” he replied nervously, trying to ignore the devious smirk that Vanessa was sending his way. God, he could already _hear_ her teasing him in that sing-song voice of hers whenever he so much as interacted with someone of the opposite gender.

At the age of nine, the prospect of dating wasn’t so much a subject of envy as it was ridicule (although Vanessa seemed to already have their dream wedding planned out in substantial detail), and he just about had enough of hearing his classmates sing that awful song about two people sitting on a tree and kissing.

Sighing, he hurriedly took the few cenz bills from his aunt. “Don’t do anything stupid, boy,” she muttered lowly under her breath.

“I won’t,” he grumbled, before turning to leave with the younger girl.

~x~

A parade was starting to pass by as the two children made their way to the bakery down the street. Somewhat perturbed by the crowd, Riza tried to ignore the masses, choosing to focus her surroundings instead. And as she did so, she noticed that the sun was already beginning to set. Though slightly obscured by the vast conglomerations of buildings it painted the sky beautifully in streaks of pink and lilac.

Nearby, there was another establishment flanked by a dark, narrow alley which stretched out into murky canyons of tangled clotheslines and abandoned beer bottles. A few doors down the street, a gentle ballad played on the piano; investing the atmosphere with an almost poetic and graceful lyricism as it undercut the sinister smell of alcohol in the air.

The soft music calmed her a little; reminding her of her mother’s elegant fingers drifting over ivory and black back at home.

“Are you okay?”

Riza looked up abruptly, interrupted from her train of thoughts and her wary trudging in between people. “Of course,” she replied, perhaps a bit more tersely than intended.

The parade travelled on. Riza quickened her place, putting herself a few steps ahead of the clueless boy beside her in hopes of getting the pastries and getting out of this place as soon as possible.Central, with its grandiose architectures and intricate balustrades might have possessed a certain charm that Tobha lacked, but the latter never had such a congested mass of human traffic.

Quite unfortunately, though, being terribly petite and almost unnoticeable to the flood of people traipsing past her; lost in their admiration of the grand parade waltzing by, Riza was almost knocked to the ground by someone much bigger in size running by her. _Almost,_ before Roy caught her by her arm; inwardly hoping that she wouldn’t squeal infatuatedly like the girls in his class often did when he so much as _brushed a finger accidentally_ past their shoulders or made any kind of bodily contact.

… Later, he realised he should have probably set his hopes higher, because his lovely nose was almost broken by her free hand.

“I… I was just trying to save your face from getting crushed by granite,” he explained hastily, letting her go immediately before she could get any strange ideas.

Somewhat embarrassed by the entire turn of events herself, Riza pretended to brush off imaginary dirt off the hem of her skirt, mumbling an apology so soft that it would have been lost in the sea of people if not for the close proximity between the two.

“Uh… right,” he walked quickly while beckoning her to follow, keeping a safe distance away from her this time. Roy was still, admittedly, a little puzzled by her reaction, for most of the girls in his class would have probably gone wild if he did such a _heroic_ thing for them… and his sisters also cooed over his boyish charms a lot (though he didn’t always appreciate them pulling his cheeks in every possible direction). So perhaps it was his hair?

 _It’s probably the hair_ , he grumbled begrudgingly to himself as he raked his fingers through his still damp, icky hair. To his displeasure, he hadn’t managed to get rid of all the gunk before Vanessa caught up to him, although most of it was gone. But still… He probably looked like an idiot to her to her and to the many strangers floating past them.

Roy groaned to himself. Why did he have to be this girl’s… escort, of all things?

~x~

Roy was thankful for the distraction when they finally arrived at the bakery. It had been an awkwardly quiet journey after what happened, after all… But the pastries seemed to lift her mood somewhat. The young girl beside him looked almost transfixed by the delightful cake topped with strawberries and cream laid out at the counter, and in the short time he’d gotten to know her Roy could have sworn that that was the least scary expression he’d seen on her homely face. 

_Hope I don’t get another punch in the face for asking._ “Wanna get that one?” Nodding bashfully, she began to fish for the coins that her mother had given her earlier from her pocket. “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Roy said, handing over the money that Aunt Chris had given him earlier to the kind cashier in front of them.

Then, with more force than he expected from a girl her size, she suddenly grabbed his wrist and dropped the coins in his palm, lips pursed in a tight, obstinate line.

“Wait, no, my aunt will kill me if she thinks I asked you to pay for it,” _because she already thinks I’m a penny pincher,_ but he didn’t add that last part.

Riza simply responded with a stubborn gaze, as if waiting for him to challenge her.

“Just… please take it back. I’ll probably eat a bigger portion than you anyway, so it makes sense for me to pay it,” he joked, while still holding out his palm in what he thought was a peace offering.

And when she finally realised that neither of them were going to move from their spot until she took back her money, she relented and murmured her thanks before making her way out of the quaint shop with renewed haste.

Roy trailed behind her carefully, two feet apart; cake in tow.

_Seriously, this girl…_

~x~

“How are things at home, Victoria?” Madame Christmas asked, seizing her chance the moment Vanessa turned her attention to Victoria’s dresses. Her eyes were sparkling with delight; positively enraptured by its elaborate designs and beautiful embroidery - dresses that she’d only ever _dreamed_ of possessing while strolling past the expensive emporiums decorating Central’s upper east side.

Almost reverently, Vanessa ran her manicured fingers across smooth silk as she sighed dreamily to herself.

“I mean… I think my untimely entrance should answer your questions,” Victoria replied somewhat grimly, not wanting to elaborate too much while still within earshot. “No need for another innocent child to be embroiled in this mess,” she whispered under her breath.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s no eavesdropper, and she’s clearly lost in her own world at the moment,” Christmas stated matter-of-factly. “Go on; do elaborate.”

“Like I said, we’re in a bit of a pinch…” she trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

“God, Victoria, do we really have to go down this route of me prompting you after every sentence? What is this, a bloody examination-in-chief?”

Victoria laughed mirthlessly, expressing her quiet agreement. Vivacious and charming as she might’ve been, she had never been great with talking about matters of the heart or anything remotely serious. Except perhaps with her darling Elizabeth, or when completely inebriated.

“Well, why?” Christmas prompted.

“Berthold’s been trying to make money from… well, teaching, young apprentices,” Victoria began, grimacing at the memory of most of them getting frightened by his strict temperament and fleeing after mere weeks. But then again, people with suck weak resolves had no business questing for the truth anyway, she supposed. Inhaling deeply before her confession, “and I haven’t been in great shape recently, so I haven’t been, well, doing as much hunting, whatever, y’know.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes seized up with concern immediately, brows furrowing.

“No, no, I’m fine, I can still do this,” she released the dart she’d been fiddling with earlier with startling dexterity, without so much as batting an eyelid. It landed right in the centre of the innocent dartboard resting on the opposite corner of the bar. “I just… haven’t been feeling great, I guess. Worrying about money is starting to take its toll on me.” She finally admitted ruefully, but her wan smile made it clear that charity was an unacceptable option. 

Christmas didn’t quite know what to say, unsure if words would even bring any comfort at this juncture. In the end, she settled for scribbling the new phone line to her bar on a piece of paper before pressing it into Victoria’s open palm.

This time, Victoria’s smile reached her eyes. They lit up with genuine gratitude as she kept the slip of paper securely in her breast pocket, though she prayed, inwardly, that there wouldn’t be a need for contacting her in the foreseeable future.

~x~

Roy opened the box immediately upon their return as Vanessa went to get utensils for them from the kitchen, gazing at it longingly with stars in his eyes. From the corner of her eye, Riza peered at the mouth-watering confection in anticipation, clearly excited to try it too, although she was nowhere as jumpy as the boy was.

His aunt cleared her throat, as if reproachfully telling an enthusiastic puppy to sit down and wait for its master’s permission before eating. _Ladies first, boy_ \- this he remembers. Upon getting the knife, he sliced the cake with precision and placed them on the plates, distributing them to the females in the room first before finally digging in himself.

The sweetness of the delicacy seemed to ease the tension somewhat. Riza hummed appreciatively to herself as the first forkful passed her thin lips, delighted by the wonderful mix of cream and fruit. Desserts tended to make her stomach rumble, but the Hawkeyes never had much money to waste on fanciful things like these.

She continued eating in silence, more than happy to let herself be overshadowed by Vanessa's incessant chatter with Roy about how beautiful her mother's dresses were. 

Roy wasn’t quite sure what to say to the younger girl or how to include her in their conversations. He still felt a little awkward from the _incident_ earlier… But deciding that she probably wasn’t a fan of small talk anyway, he settled for agreeing with Vanessa (not that he really knew what she was going on about), taking more cake than he would have otherwise been allowed to if his aunt hadn’t been attentively engaged in conversation with the graceful lady in the room. While he couldn’t deny that he was a little curious about what they were talking about, his aunt tended to wave him away dismissively whenever she was talking about _adult stuff_. Whatever that meant.

“Alright, Riza dear, we should get going soon before we miss the last train back home,” Victoria called, walking over to the children after keeping the wad of cenz securely in her purse. She reached out to pat Roy’s affectionately as she neared them, thanking him for being, well, Riza’s tour guide to Central.

“Uh, it’s no problem at all,” he stuttered awkwardly. Blushing, he wondered to himself if she was as strong as Riza despite her dainty looking wrists.

Turning furtively to observe the state of the tavern, he noticed the dart that she had been twirling carelessly earlier firmly embedded, right smack in the middle of the dartboard, and concluded that _yes, she probably is, if not even stronger._

Roy gulped. He sure as hell didn’t want to get on her bad side, too… But he eventually relaxed in her calming presence as she helped him fix the atrocity resting above his head with nimble fingers and kind, teasing upward twitches of her cherry-painted lips.

“Take care, Victoria,” Christmas said, shooting her a meaningful look before reminding her softly once more to call her if anything, _anything_ cropped up. “And you too, Riza,” she smiled to herself, already fond of the quiet child who seemed rather adept at putting her silly nephew in his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much @hirayaart for reviewing this!! All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.
> 
> //
> 
> heya! this was the first fic I ever wrote, and it was done in a rush while I was procrastinating for finals lol. in hindsight I'm not very satisfied with how the first three chapters were written, and I will rewrite them eventually when I have the time. but it gets better :') feedback & concrit are always welcome (update: I've rewritten chapter one a little)! 
> 
> say hi on tumblr if you're there, i'm firewoodfigs ^_^


	2. dinners are for unspoken words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fall arrives, and things at the hawkeyes' begin to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of child abuse and illness

Even after the two blondes’ departure, Vanessa had continued to rummage through Victoria’s stash of dresses with about the same vigor as a pirate who’d unearthed a long sought-after treasure trove. “Look, Roy! This one’s especially beautiful - look at that detail!” 

Roy might not have been the most fashionable person in the room, but he nodded appreciatively in acknowledgment, cheeks bulging out like a hamster’s from finishing the last slice of cake. He fingered the intricate lace delicately, as though afraid he might rip it if he wasn’t careful, and chuckled fondly before reaching over to ruffle Vanessa’s hair. 

This almost earned him a smack on the shoulder, though not before he dodged away agilely. _Not as fast as that girl, thankfully_. 

In truth, he knew why these things often had the effect of turning her into a squealing mess: they reminded her of her late mother, who was an exceptionally skilful seamstress. Despite their relatively middle-class status, her works had been greatly admired and extensively sought after by people from the upper echelons of Central. 

He smiled wistfully as he traced an embroidered flower, wishing he had something to remember his parents by too. 

Roy himself had lost his parents when he was very young, and he’d been left with nothing to remember them by when their entire house was engulfed in flames. The only vague memories he recalled were flickering images of his parents’ dying faces and the fire’s shadow-casting glare as he escaped death narrowly, _alone._

But suddenly, like an ugly, jarring paradox, he wasn’t quite sure he _wanted_ to remember. He dimly remembered the sound of glass unceremoniously crashing on the floor; the pointed edge of an umbrella reinforcing screaming and swearing. Had that been real, or was it just a figment of his imagination...? 

Roy blinked a little more fervently, as if ridding himself of these thoughts - there was no point being caught up in the past. He was happy to have Aunt Chris and all his sisters here, and they were all the family he needed. 

“Who were they anyway, Aunt Chris?” Vanessa asks curiously.

“She’s… I suppose you could say she’s something like a daughter to me.” This wasn’t surprising, since she treated the women in the bar like they were all her daughters, but their sudden entrance and abrupt departure certainly made them quite the enigma. 

“So… that girl’s like a granddaughter, then?” Roy wrinkled his nose slightly at the memory of that girl, tapping it with his index finger to make sure it was still intact. 

“You calling me old now, Roy-boy?” his aunt replied, mock offence colouring her tone. 

“Of course not,” he sputtered defensively, having been around women enough to know that age was a sensitive subject. He quickly thought of something to change the topic. “Why did that girl look so… unhappy when I talked about alchemy, anyway?” He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d perhaps offended her with his excitement, still somewhat confused at what it was he did that warranted the punch apart from his unpleasant hairstyle.

“... I’m not quite sure. But I do know her father is an alchemist - have you ever heard of Berthold Hawkeye?” 

Roy’s face was practically beaming at this point. Of course he knew him - he was one of the modern brains behind elemental alchemy, although his recent endeavours had been a mystery given the lack of publications bearing his name. “I wonder if we’ll ever see them again,” silently hoping that perhaps he could learn a thing or two from that man. 

“Maybe,” his aunt replied ambiguously. “Anyway, back to your rooms - it’s time for work and you kids have no business associating with rich, old men.” 

Vanessa obliged happily, having tasked herself with bringing up Victoria’s dresses for closer inspection. Ever the gentleman, Roy helped her with carrying it up the stairs, before bringing dinner up for the both of them and his other sisters upstairs. 

The rest of his evening was spent with his nose buried in his alchemy textbooks contemplatively while chewing on the rice balls his aunt had made, as he forced his mind to steer away from the direction of his deceased parents. But with his sisters’ incessant chatter (though it might have distracted him from his studying, he was rather content to listen to their ramblings), it wasn’t difficult to do so, anyway. 

~x~ 

Dinners at the Hawkeyes’ are a relatively quiet, almost ominous, affair. 

Like an ever-intrusive apparition, Riza’s inability to perform any kind of alchemy haunted their estate perpetually. An evening at home rarely passed without some allusion to this elusive hope, this spectre, that she would be able to one day inherit her father’s skill and legacy. 

Even when it went unmentioned over dinner, his hopes hung across the table in his preoccupied gaze; like a sentence passed over his daughter’s timid, apologetic posture. 

Victoria’s expertise in manoeuvring people’s minds to other topics was probably the only saving grace - a skill she’d cultivated from years of tolerating her controlling mother’s cross-examinations, and perhaps one of the traits that had caught Berthold’s attention in the first place. 

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat, looking up from the array of vegetables on the ceramic plate, “I’ve managed to clear off some of our debts and outstanding mortgage, but I have to warn you - I don’t have much left after doing so.” 

Then, with a pause, as if deliberately aggravating the sting, “Our daughter’s been very helpful, too.” _Unlike you_. 

The underlying accusation (and the silent plea for him to take in another ambitious, hopeful apprentice) wasn't lost on her husband, but he was also terribly tired of fighting with his wife over money. It seemed to be all that plagued them these days, but he was more inclined to ruminate on other matters of greater consequence, such as his alchemical theories and arrays.

In any case, she'd been the one who chose to purchase an estate well beyond what they could afford. _So much for being made of money._

He settled for a sigh and a disgruntled nod, not wanting to comment further on the topic at hand.

Victoria, on the other hand, was well aware that this was about the closest thing to appreciation that can come from him at this point. Begrudgingly, she accepted this and returned to spearing her asparagus with her fork instead, this time with a bit more force than necessary.

The Hawkeyes continued their dinner in silence, with Riza stealing furtive glances at her parents now and then and her mother gently rubbing her elbow to soothe her anxious heart. 

~x~ 

Months went by and the leaves began to fall; falling as if from far up, as if orchards were dying high in space. As Victoria drew the portieres open, the inception of dawn seeped through, casting a gentle, thin light on her lonely silhouette. 

Still, despite the seasonal changes... there had no sign of an apprentice capable of enduring Berthold Hawkeye’s mercurial temper and eccentric teaching methods for longer than a few weeks.

Victoria stared out of the window while sipping her coffee with a worried expression adorning her features, pensive and calculating. Though she’d managed to clear some of their debts, there were plenty still unsettled, and she’d already used up most of whatever was garnered from selling her exquisite dresses. 

Gripping the cup a little tighter before dumping it into the sink, she decided that it was probably for the best that she returned to her hunting expeditions, in spite of the aches that had been ailing her for more than a year now. They made her feel like falling, like the leaves outside the fogged-up window, but disregarding this like it was merely a minor inconvenience, she turned to get ready for the day ahead after rinsing her mug. 

~x~

For the most part, Victoria was as expeditious as ever as she ghosted through the woods lithely, killing her targets without wasting more arrows than necessary and passing the carcasses to those who’d requested for them. Her customer base came in the form of butchers and taxidermists, and while the latter might have bothered her slightly she was resolute in her determination to clear the Hawkeyes’ outstanding arrears. 

Occasionally, she allowed Riza to accompany her on her trips. While the bow might have been a tad too big for her elf-like, nine-year-old frame, the child already demonstrated a knack for shooting, even if she lacked the same aptitude for alchemy. With a little guidance and practice, she already had a near-impeccable aim, and Victoria was certain that she would definitely live up to her namesake one day. 

The only issue she had with Riza tagging along was that it was getting increasingly hard to hide the pain that pulsated through her body. Not wanting to waste their money on unnecessary medical fees, though, she simply treated it as a minor inconvenience, like she did most major afflictions in her life. In any case, concealing it was a small price to pay if it meant that she got to spend more time with her lovely daughter without worrying her. 

Later, she realised that it was probably a stupid decision to have not sought medical attention.

She’d been demonstrating a stance to little Riza, who was hiding behind her as per her orders - _this one’s a little dangerous, Elizabeth - stand back_. Truthfully, it would’ve been child’s play, given that their target was unhindered by anything. Victoria was sure that her arrow would have sliced through the wind with its usual precision, if not for the sudden jolt of pain that sent her buckling down to the ground and blew their cover. 

At this, Riza panicked and huddled closer to her mother, who was clearly incapable of either defence or escape, given that her quivering hands were now clutching her chest tightly. 

Sensing the threat, the boar began approaching them begrudgingly.

Her eyes flitted nervously between her gasping mother and the terrifying game. It was the first time she’d been caught in such a threatening situation, and though she felt her blood run cold she knew there was no time to let her emotions overtake her. 

She gulped. Either way, Riza was out of options. If she tried to run, her tiny legs wouldn’t carry her very far, and she certainly couldn’t leave her mother alone. 

Pulling herself up to her feet, she mustered the courage to pick up her bow and stood firmly, imitating the stance her mother had shown her earlier - back straight, parallel to the bow. There was barely any time to fix her aim, which was somewhat off because her arms couldn’t _stop_ trembling - she needed to kill it, _now_ , or at least attack it. 

And so she let her arrow fly. _Please, let it hit, let it hit -_

She missed. 

“A... again,” her mother choked, wishing she was capable of killing the provoked animal that was now beginning to charge towards them _herself_. But she couldn’t - it was an agony akin to being immolated alive, she could barely mobilise her shaking arms.

Riza bit her lip, swallowing her tears and obeyed, this time with renewed desperation. Deftly, she nocked another arrow in and drew the bowstring back, giving herself a fraction of a second to at least _try to aim_ , and shot. 

This time, it lands. 

It wasn’t a lethal shot by any means, but it was enough to send the animal crumpling to the ground in agony. Riza almost cried from relief - they’d been so close that some of its blood had even gotten on their clothes.

“R… run,” Victoria stumbled to her feet, holding on to her daughter’s petite frame for support. Even standing up had the effect of sending a searing fire through her legs, but this was their only window for escape. Regardless, they ran for their lives, Riza tugging her along as she bit down on her lips - she’d done so with so much force that they were bleeding - to avoid screaming. 

By the time they’d gotten back to their backyard, she’d almost collapsed from agony and exhaustion, and was breaking out profusely in cold sweat. Even sitting down was agonising, and she couldn’t keep her face from contorting in anguish. 

Riza was, again, stuck in a dilemma. “Should I call for father? Should I get you a doctor, mother?” 

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “N… no. Just…” - _God,_ was it a challenge to speak through the asphyxiating feeling in her chest - “W… water. And the wh… white…” 

“The white pills on the counter?” Riza had seen her taking it a couple of times, but her mother had made up some convenient, silly excuse about how they were just vitamins. 

She’d seen right through the lie, of course, but her mother was an obstinate mule and would rather die than give up a piece of information if she was intent on secrecy. 

Victoria nodded, trying to catch her breath and detach herself from the pain. 

Riza’s response was instantaneous, and she came back with what her mother had requested for in a matter of seconds. Gently, she placed two pills into her mother’s mouth, before tilting her head back slightly so that she could flush it down with water. 

_Wait,_ her mother signalled, rubbing the blood off her lips with the back of her palm. She squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the drugs to take effect, as Riza stared at her with muted panic in her eyes and rubbed her arms in an attempt to relieve her misery. 

As much as Victoria appreciated the comforting gesture, it made her gut twist _._ She was supposed to be protecting her child, not the other way round, for God’s sake - _what kind of mother am I?_

After what felt like an eternity, the drugs kicked in at last, and she could finally stand on her own two feet without feeling like she was being electrocuted. “I… I’m okay now,” she breathed. There was still a dull ache niggling in her chest, but it was tolerable. “Thank you, my sweet Elizabeth.” 

“Are you sure? I could accompany you to the doctor’s, mother…” Riza began, frowning in disbelief. She’d never seen her mother look so pale and weak and ill before - she was already waifish enough to begin with, but the incident seemed to reduce her to near-nothingness - and the way she’d been paralysed from the pain was undoubtedly worrying. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she interrupted softly. “I’ll see one if it gets worse, I promise.” 

Things already seemed bad enough, though, but before Riza could press on the issue further her mother brought them back into the manor and gently ordered her to get cleaned up while she started on dinner. 

~x~

“I have a new apprentice,” her father declared over dinner. “He’ll be coming in the week.” 

“We’ll see how long this one lasts for,” was her mother’s only sardonic reply. She said nothing else; made no mention of the incident earlier though it was obviously a cause for concern. 

They continued eating their dinner wordlessly, despite the million thoughts running through their minds. Riza’s, especially. The thought of having a new apprentice unsettled her slightly, because she’d never been fond of any of them. The previous apprentices under her father’s tutelage had, for some reason, been inclined to believe that she held the key to her father’s secrets. Some resorted to creative methods, others cruel, to extract it from her although Riza had absolutely nothing to offer. 

(She thought that would have been clear from her lack of talent in alchemy, but clearly, it wasn’t.) 

But perhaps what disconcerted her the most was her mother’s blatant disregard for her health, though she was aware that answers were unlikely. After all, dinners at the Hawkeyes’ were reserved for unspoken words. Unsaid disappointment. Unanswered questions. 

Riza doesn’t bother voicing any of this out loud. Instead, she sank into her seat resignedly and glared at her dinner to so that her unshed tears wouldn't draw any attention. 

Victoria notices, but doesn’t point it out. 

She wonders, though, why her chicken tasted like bile seasoned with thyme that night. 

~x~

True to her father’s word, his new apprentice arrives two days later. 

It had been raining that day, so he stood there like a drenched cat with hair the colour of rust and eyes that were deceptively kind. He introduced himself as Rufus Lorens, sixteen this year; and with an awfully cheery disposition and an inviting, outstretched hand he asked if he would mind if he dried himself first before commencing his lessons. 

After a moment's scrutiny, her father nodded, ordering him to meet him in his room after he was done. 

Riza, on the other hand, only peered down from the ledge upstairs instead of greeting him personally, keeping close to her mother who looked a little worse for wear today than she did a couple days earlier. Her mother said nothing, though. She only sized him up with a surreptitious glare before turning to her daughter with a sunny smile, whispering conspiratorially, “Let’s see how long he lasts for.” 

(Secretly, Victoria wishes she’d asked the Madame’s kid if he was interested to come train under her husband instead, but the boy probably deserved better than Berthold’s short fuse.) 

~x~ 

Contrary to her mother’s expectations, Rufus ends up staying for months, until Riza turns ten. 

She witnessed that look of approval on her father’s stoic expression a lot during his time here - _all for him and none for her_ \- and with the ever-growing pile of alchemical tomes strewn carelessly around the living room from his all-nighters he seemed to be making steady progress. 

He’d begun his lessons under her father in a number of subjects, ranging from math, chemistry and physics. Subjects that were not Riza’s strongest suit, but she coped with her father’s dismay by convincing herself that finding out a substance’s molecular weight was of no help when facing a wild boar in the woods. 

Not one to give up without a fight, though, Riza had tried to read through the basic alchemy books that her father had given to her before, in the lofty hopes of attenuating Berthold Hawkeye’s disappointed stares and displeased yells. 

_Tried and failed._

It was easy enough to find the value of _x_ and balance a few chemical equations here and there, but when it came down to anything more advanced like _stoicmetry -_ _stoikemetry? Stoichiometry,_ she’d struggled tremendously (she could barely remember how to spell that word). For starters, it bored the poor child to death, and her young mind struggled to comprehend the intricacies of complex exothermic reactions. It certainly didn’t help that her father’s pedagogy consisted of shoving a textbook in one’s face and interrogating them about what they’d distilled from the disgustingly thick tome afterwards. 

Her mother was a lot more patient and forgiving, never once losing her temper, but even with her guidance Riza still found it hard to complete the tasks her father had delegated (in part because she wasn’t very good at simplifying the theories herself - both mother and daughter shared a greater affinity for literature). Once, _just once,_ she’d managed to successfully transmute _something_ from bits and pieces of cloth _,_ but it bore an uncanny resemblance to the drooping ear of her worn-out dog plushie. 

Her father had decomposed it and threw the shreds back sharply at her, and she felt like he’d spat the word _failure_ in her face. This instigated a terrible fight between her parents, with many incomprehensible curses being spewed, and her mother had almost ripped _his_ ear apart instead. 

Young Riza definitely did not want to start any more of that, so she decided that sticking to archery was a lot better than dabbling in alchemy. 

Rufus, on the other hand, could determine the inherent structure and properties of the molecular makeup of a particular material to be transmuted with unnerving ease, and while he started out all kind smiles and shining eyes Riza was beginning to wonder if he was asking her difficult questions on purpose to rub her inaptitude in her face. 

“Hey, do you know how to find the activation energy of an Arrhenius’ equation?” 

“... No, Mr. Lorens.” The brains behind that equation sounded more like the name of a bodily part she’d learnt in biology class to Riza, but she refrained from voicing that out loud. 

“Oh, that’s quite alright, I’ll just have to figure this one out _myself_ , then,” he drawled with a lazy smile as he continued to make himself comfortable by the fireplace. 

He seemed like a curious enough student, but there was something about him that tended to leave a sour taste in her tongue. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her for longer than necessary whenever she lingered around the kitchen to help her mother with the dishes, or the way he seemed to be searching for something… _more_ whenever he asked questions. Regardless, Riza’s bad experiences with her father’s previous apprentices had certainly taught her to be wary, and so she kept to her own devices for the most part. 

One huge perk of his apprenticeship, though, was that there was a relatively stable income generated from his tuition fees that left the Hawkeyes’ poor, still, but not destitute, and so Victoria could take a break from her hunting trips for a bit. Riza had offered to go in her stead, but she was strictly confined to hunting animals like rabbits. 

She still couldn’t tell if it was harder to shoot a boar or a rabbit, given that she just wanted to pat the latter. 

Nonetheless, she was glad that her mother could remain at home, for while there hadn’t been another bout of torment - not in front of her, at least - her health certainly seemed to be deteriorating. This much was obvious from her pallid countenance, but the doctors they’d visited couldn’t seem to diagnose anything wrong with her. They only prescribed her with painkillers before advising her to rest at home, and so she did. 

Occasionally, she and Victoria would engage in small talk with Rufus out of courtesy, but her mother was always quick to cut the conversation. She was excellent at keeping up the image of the welcoming, compassionate matriarch, but whenever he wasn’t looking she glared at him so hard that Riza thought his back would have been full of holes by now. 

One night, when Riza questioned her mother about this as she recited the last line of a poem to her before bed-time - _for God alone doth know how blessed my early years have been in thee!_ \- she realised she wasn’t alone. 

“I don’t get a good feeling from him either, Elizabeth. But don’t worry - whatever happens, I’m here to protect you,” she said while running a tender hand through her long, aureate hair that now fell way past her shoulders. 

Feeling like there were answers to be had tonight, Riza piped up again. “But you’re still sick though, mother. I should be the one protecting you instead!” 

She smiled sadly. “I’m… I’m better now, Riza. But I guess we can protect each other, hm?” Apparently, the excruciating bout of pain she experienced hadn’t been a one-off thing, and they'd only gotten increasingly frequent since the first time it happened...

But Victoria ultimately decided that this was not something Riza needed to know, as she watched her fall into a peaceful slumber with her tattered soft toy that might’ve once been a puppy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you @vrangrpen once again for taking the time to review this, i appreciate it so much!!
> 
> // 
> 
> not much royai here (if you're looking for some royai fluff you can read my one-shot, the religious and the damned!), but here's chapter 2!! so sorry about the delay, i just finished finals awhile ago, but look forward to moms made fullmetal week yall :"D
> 
> do let me know if you have any feedback, i'd really, really appreciate it ^_^
> 
> also, the poem at the end is by emily bronte - it is too late to call thee now [1840] in her book of poems, poems of solitude :)
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on tumblr if you're there, i'm firewoodfigs ^_^


	3. thus with a kiss, ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riza unknowingly teaches her mother what family and love mean. For the first time in her life, Victoria Grumman is content to live for someone other than herself, unlike what she told Olivier Armstrong and her father years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: near-assault (not explicit but just in case!) and character death  
> special thanks to @vrangrpen for helping me vet through this and for the incredible, amazing art!! (@hirayaart on tumblr) <3 literally could not have done this without you, thank you for all your support fam :')

As fate would have it, their instincts were right. 

Her father had gone out on an errand after his lesson with Mr. Lorens that evening, while her mother, overcome with lassitude had retired to her room early to rest. 

Young, dutiful Riza had therefore taken it upon herself to prepare dinner for every person in the Hawkeyes’ estate. Mr. Lorens’ frustrated groans from his room certainly hadn’t helped in her attempts to concentrate. In the past couple of months it seemed like his confident, snarky facade was slowly breaking, if the increasingly frequent grumbling was any indication. Nevertheless, she was proud of herself for whipping up a decent pot of chicken noodle soup in the end. 

She’d intended to leave dinner out on the kitchen table for her father and Mr. Lorens and accompany her mother by her bedside, but when Mr. Lorens heard her setting up the dinner table he had opened his door slightly, to beckon her to _come over and bring dinner over for him instead_. 

Riza grimaced hesitantly at this, but not wanting to be impolite to a guest she reassured herself that she could just leave it on his table and leave immediately. And so she entered his room quietly, leaving a steaming bowl of broth on his study table before preparing to check on her mother -

\- Except, she doesn’t get the chance to. 

“Wait,” he calls before she has a chance to exit, reaching out to grab her wrist firmly. 

“Yes, Mr. Lorens?” Riza steels her jaw to mask her discomfort at the sudden closeness between them. 

“I’ve always been curious about something,” he stands from his seat, rising to his full height to stare down at the petite girl with a malicious glint in his eyes. “Do you _really_ not know anything about alchemy, or is that just a ruse that your father made you put up?” 

“I really know nothing about it, Mr. Lorens. I’ve told you this many times. Now if you would just let me go -” 

He does the opposite, imprisoning her in a cage-like hold with his arms that were much stronger than her scraggy ones. “Surely he must have revealed his knowledge to his daughter, hm?” 

She feels a hand sliding insidiously up her waist, as if he was searching for a non-existent secret engraved on her skin. 

“I told you, I know nothing about his research,” she states defiantly, despite her trembling frame that was struggling against his stronghold.

“It’s not good to lie, little girl,” he smirks, reaching for the hem of her shirt, but a voice interrupts him before he can venture further. 

“You have three seconds to get the hell of my property and never come back, or I’ll shoot you,” a frail but resolute voice sounded from his door that had been left ajar. 

“What’s this, Mrs. Hawkeye?” He smirks. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, _resting_?” 

Victoria raises her bow and aims straight for his heart. “Three.” 

At this, he relinquishes his grip on Riza, who immediately runs to her mother’s side and cowers behind her skirt. “Mother,” she whispers urgently, worried about her health. 

He backs away slowly, out of the door as she lowers her bow, pretending to take his things along with him but instead uses them as a cover for him to draw a very familiar alchemical array on the floor, smirking as he raises his hands, but another clap intervenes as Victoria’s bow clatters unceremoniously to the floor.

Suddenly, with a blinding flash, he finds that _his_ hands are the ones encased in a wooden handcuff instead. 

“Too slow, you bastard,” Victoria heaves, but despite the blood dripping slightly from the left side of her lip she is too enraged to care. Instead, she pulls Rufus up by the collar with a strength he hadn’t realised she possessed and aggressively throws him out of his room, not caring that he might fall down the creaking stairs to his death. 

He scrambles for dear life and never comes back. 

“Mother, you’re bleeding,” Riza cries out, tears falling uncontrollably at this point as she reaches a quivering hand out to steady her mother. Fear and guilt consumed her - she was petrified at the possibility of what could’ve happened if her mother hadn’t come to her rescue in time, but to her ten-year-old mind it felt like she was to blame for her mother’s current predicament. “I’m sorry, mother. You shouldn’t have come out -”

“Don’t say that, Riza,” she rasps through the pain, wiping away the blood with her sleeve. “Don’t ever blame yourself for this. I’m glad,” with a tender smile, she embraces her daughter gently but firmly, “that I managed to protect you from that man.” 

“I’m your mother, after all, and I will always love you, Elizabeth. So much,” she manages to whisper the last part aloud before passing out.

~x~

Berthold had returned shortly after, shocked to find that his wife had collapsed in his apprentice’s room. With his help they’d managed to get Victoria back into her bed, and slowly she began to return to consciousness, though this roused a coughing fit from her sickly pallor. 

“What happened?” he asks, and Riza bites her lips to suppress the tears that were threatening to well up again. 

“Another shitty apprentice,” his wife responds curtly, attempting to sit herself upright. Riza lifts her up gently, eyes bright with self-reproach. “Not your fault, Elizabeth,” she repeats for emphasis, glaring at Berthold to reinforce the message before he jumped to his own conclusions. “He tried to lay his dirty hands on her, Berthold. Her. A ten-year old.”

His eyes widened slightly at Victoria’s explanation, before softening somewhat sympathetically as he looked at his daughter. Unsure if anything he said would be of any comfort, though, he settles for a diversion. “What else did the doctor say?” 

“Just rest and recuperate,” she smiles grimly, stroking her daughter’s hair. 

“... I’ll get another doctor to come by tomorrow. Maybe another opinion would be helpful.” He crosses the distance between them in two long strides, before resting an open palm awkwardly on her shoulder, a silent gesture of apology and compunction and strained affection all at once. Victoria simply shrugs and shakes her head resignedly. 

“It’s fine, don’t bother, Berthold.” 

“Tomorrow,” he reaffirms, a strange conviction seeping into his general apathy. Taking note of Riza’s shivering frame, he withdrew his hand shortly after and exited the room to leave them alone. 

“You should go to bed too, Elizabeth. You’ve had a long day,” she reached out to pull her daughter into a gentle embrace. “My poor child… you must’ve been so scared…” 

Riza returns the hug with equal fervor, sobbing quietly into her shoulder, before letting out a muffled whisper. “Can I sleep with you tonight, mother?” 

The doctors hadn’t said anything about her condition being contagious, so she relents. “Of course, sweetheart,” she shifts Riza comfortably under the blankets before humming a soothing lullaby into her flaxen hair. “I’ll be here to chase all the nightmares away.” 

“Thank you, mother… and thank you for protecting me.” 

“That’s what family’s for, Riza,” she taps her nose gently and presses a tender kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well,” she murmurs. 

Soon enough, Riza’s eyelids fluttered shut, and when Victoria was pleased with the innocent slumber that overtook her petite body she rose indiscreetly to her table to light a small candle and let ink flow, for despite the fatigue overwhelming her there were letters to be written and words to be left tonight before she was snuffed out like a wick. 

_A letter for my sweet Elizabeth, Berthold, and…_ she hesitated before deciding that her parents didn’t deserve any. She would write one for Christmas instead - who had been more like a mother than her own ever was, and was the only example of motherhood she had for reference (she supposed her incorrigible mother counted as well, as an example of what _not_ to do) - to thank her for all that she’d done in the past and apologise for lost time, and to invite her little boy to train as an apprentice under Berthold. 

She was convinced that he would make a fine protege: for though his eyes were as dark as midnight they were illuminated by a heart of gold and a will of fire, and she had faith that Christmas would have taught him enough about respecting a young girl’s boundaries. 

Halfway through writing, Riza began to stir slightly in her sleep. “Mother…” she murmured, eyes still closed, and immediately Victoria crossed the distance between them to climb into bed with her for a short while, resting a gentle hand on her sleeping form. 

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” she grieved, apologising for a future that was going to be torn asunder from their hands. 

~x~

The doctor who arrived the day after only confirmed what she was already painfully aware of. “I don’t think… I’m not sure how to say this, Mrs. Hawkeye.” 

“That I don’t have much time left?” Victoria responds a little curtly, though thankful that Riza was still in school at the moment. 

“... That seems like the case, Mrs. Hawkeye. I apologise, but I don’t think there’s much I can do,” he answers regretfully, meeting her husband’s blank stare with an apologetic one. 

“That’s alright, you’re a doctor, not a miracle worker. Now get going.” She waves a hand to dismiss him, feeling the slightest hint of guilt for her irascible temper. He looked like a kind enough man, but as she already guessed the visit was nothing but a waste of money - she didn’t need people entering her room to announce what she already knew. 

He left with a final murmured apology, somewhat downcast that he couldn’t do more for the gregarious lady who was known among the townsfolk as a formidable huntress, now reduced to a debilitated, bedridden patient. 

“And you,” she turned to her husband sharply while suppressing another coughing fit. “I have a letter for you. And a new apprentice in mind.” 

“You really should be resting, Victoria.” He sighs, before resting a cold, callused hand awkwardly on top of her bony ones that were clasping a few brown envelopes. 

“Nonsense, I’m not even dead yet. Would you mind mailing this out for me when I… you know?” she handed him the letters addressed to Christmas. “I believe he will be a remarkable apprentice - younger than the _bastard_ I threw out yesterday, but kid’s got spunk.” She smiled sadly at the thought of not being around to see him grow into a fine alchemist. 

“And one for you too,” for though any semblance of romance between them had long faded like twilight they had shared a strange kind of companionship over a relatively long passage of time. 

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly, tightening his hands around hers.

They’d met in a bar, and like many other young men it wasn’t difficult for Berthold to be captivated by Victoria who was a blossoming young woman; five feet four inches of otherworldly beauty and poetic grace, brimming with desire, an indeterminate yearning for escapism. Men looked at her from the corner of their eyes wherever she went, but beyond superficial beauty she was vivid, vivacious. Clever. Even in her drunken stupor her intellect and charm were unrivalled, and Victoria was more than content to sustain a conversation with a man who wasn’t insulted by her intelligence. 

In the end, it wasn’t so much a relationship predicated on love and passion, rather than a shared affinity for loneliness. Berthold’s orphaned childhood and tendency to be a misanthropic, drunken loner, coupled with Victoria’s discomfiture at home and her propensity to keep matters of the heart to herself somehow led to an odd companionship where both made good distractions for each other from other evils that were plaguing their mind. 

And despite all that had happened… she wanted to believe that there was something good in him deep down, for if he could be an alchemist For the People, surely he could spare a thought for one - for Riza. He hadn’t been a good father by measurable standards, but she hoped that her earnest plea in her letter, in her desperate eyes, would persuade him to try. 

Her husband continues running a thumb over her slender fingers as she continues her unspoken ruminations, silently grieving over how hands that were once so warm and strong, so vibrant and musically inclined now felt like ice and malaise; like lifeless, fallen branches. She returns the gesture with a graceful sorrow in her movements before withdrawing her hands to stifle a cough.

Berthold pours her a cup of water from the bedside immediately, bringing it up to her cracked lips. “Thank you. I… I need some time alone, Berthold. If you wouldn’t mind?” 

Hesitantly, he rises from her bed, unsure of whether to stay or leave. “Please,” she begs, and with that he leaves the room, though he doesn’t miss the private despair beginning to seep through her facade. Her muted weeping grows louder as he stares at her door despondently. 

_Human transmutation…_ As he opens the envelope he’d received from her he notices _that_ is the first thing crossed out warningly in red. Berthold chuckled mirthlessly, a sound devoid of life and hope that cruelly mirrors her cracked sobs behind the door. 

Then, the next line - in bolded scarlet was a plea to take care of Riza. _Don’t blame her for her disinclination towards alchemy, Berthold._

He continued studying her elegant script carefully, as if they held, encrypted, some key to the secrets of her dimming heart, with a heart equally darkened with the knowledge of losing the only woman he had ever loved. The faded scent of sandalwood perfume lingering on the parchment paper was redolent of a time of budding passion between them, but any sparks that could have been were stamped out by his unaffectionate and bad-tempered nature like the onslaught of a harsh drought after summer. 

But at last, with the inescapable deadline ahead… there was little he could do to rectify the injustice she suffered. 

His skin prickled with regret, eyes watering for a woman who deserved so much better. 

~x~

Alone in the comfort of solitude, Victoria finally allows herself a rare moment of frailty to cry and mourn, for things lost and about to be gone with the wind, as she traces the cursive letters that spelt out Riza’s name on the crumpled, now slightly damp envelope. 

Her penmanship reminded her of her own parents, who were the ones who taught her calligraphy. And while she had staunchly made up her mind that they were unworthy of any farewells, there was still a lingering barb within that stabbed at her heart whenever she thought about them - a swirling maelstrom of anger and animosity, for the suffocation she endured while imprisoned within their control.

All her life she was curated and groomed to be a mere antique, a pretty ornament for display, for someone else’s edification. A pawn to be moved on someone’s chessboard so that they could take further steps ahead. Ever since she knew how to wield a bow her parents had been adamant that she join the military and carry on the Grummans’ illustrious reputation within the military - the fuel that ignited numerous disagreements and ultimately led to her estrangement. 

~x~

Snow tapped outside the window panes in the winter of 1889, drizzling over the canal and iron balustrades outside. The air that sifted through the windows of Colonel Grumman’s office carried a chilly tone, disapprobation and austerities, as if mirroring the tension in the room. 

“You really should join the military, Victoria. With that level of skill you would make an excellent addition to the army’s artillery and leadership - perhaps you could even consider the State Alchemist -” 

“For what, Father? So that I can support your agenda, propel your silly ideals for this country forward?” 

Her father’s face contorted in displeasure and restraint, as if trying to withhold a retort - she, of all people, should have known by now that he wasn’t doing all of this simply for himself. “It is for the greater good, Victoria. Surely someone of your intelligence must understand Bentham’s theory of utilitarianism.” 

“I don’t need a lecture on different theories of ethics right now, and let’s be honest - you’re no holy saint yourself. Can you really say that all that you do is purely for the good of this country, or is your own selfish pride at stake as well?” Her eyes flashed visibly in anger at his sanctimonious talk, fists clenched at his implied moral superiority as she inhaled, and exhaled her next words. “The desire to maintain the Grummans’ name and honor, the longing for the citizens of Amestris to herald you as a hero, to sing your praises and glory?” 

“That’s not the point. It would be _selfish_ of you, Victoria, to squander your talents away.” 

It felt like he’d spat out the word, almost as if in self-projection: his diversion from her question made it clear that she was right. 

Beside him, her mother’s chin cocked up in disdain, in disgust, but she held her tongue, giving Victoria a chance to pick submission over rebellion. 

“If it’s so wrong, so selfish to simply want to live for my own sake for once, to be my own person instead of your puppet, to pursue my own desires instead of some lofty ideals of protecting this country, then so be it. I am my own being, with my own independent will, and I will not be ensnared by the military’s or this family’s confines!” 

Her father’s only response was a disappointed shake of the head, while a disheartened sigh escaped her mother’s shimmering, glossy lips. “Stop thinking that we’re asking you to be relegated to nothing more than a military dog, Victoria. There is more to life than your vapid, selfish desires -” 

“Funny that you mention that when you already treat me like I’m your lap dog, mother,” Victoria responded scathingly. 

“Don’t be rude, Victoria,” her mother snapped, temper noticeably rising in tandem with her fingers. 

“Why, you’re no paragon of virtue yourself -” she punctuated her snide remark with a sardonic chuckle - “a girl can’t swear, can’t curse the stars for the lot in life bestowed upon her that she despises, can’t spill the brutal, honest truth to her mother’s face?”

Had it not been for her quick reflexes her face would have been marred by her mother’s perfectly manicured nails and sparkling diamonds - Victoria managed to catch her wrist before it could land on her cheek and flung it aside indignantly. 

She glared at her mother irately, unwilling to step back from the angry scowl on her deceptively beautiful face. Between them there was now a cutting coldness, an edge stemming from a relationship broken like shards of glass; a looming wintriness that stirred a raging snowstorm inside the room despite it being relatively warmer than outside. 

“Enough, you two,” Victoria spat. I’m not interested in participating in your silly games of climbing the ranks. And if I will be disinherited for choosing not to, then _so be it._ Disown me, damn my name for all I care.” With that she stormed out and slammed the door, the red carpets in the corridors suddenly resembling a highway to freedom. 

She redid her scarf as she walked past the ponderous doors laced with ironwork down the hallways of East City’s Headquarters, fingers trembling in anger and the slightest hint of loneliness and despair. 

It was already late at night, and so she was surprised to encounter a regal-looking blonde from an equally noble family. “From the way you’re walking towards exit I suppose you’ve decided to not join the military?” 

“To hell with that, Olivier. I don’t want to be another pawn on my father’s chessboard.” 

“... Not everyone in the military is just hungry for power or control, Victoria,” Olivier Armstrong replied with a small shrug, fingers running across the hilt of her sabre that rested securely on her left hip. 

“I know _you_ aren’t. You’ve always respected the independent will of your subordinates, despite your dominant personality… And you’ve always been a force of nature to reckon with,” they both smirked at the memory of sparring against each other in their childhood. Although Olivier was a few years younger than she was, she’d always been a worthy opponent; one that she thoroughly enjoyed fighting against. 

“I know.” She paused, scrutinising Victoria’s gaze that was now far away, somewhere else. “I think we’d make a great team together.” 

“Maybe, but I have no aspirations of leading or commanding a bunch of people, or dreams of making this country a better place. I might be nobility, but I’m not _that_ noble, Olivier.” She gave her a lopsided grin. For while they both descended from aristocracy their upbringings and personalities were vastly different. “Between the both of us, I’ve always been a little more self-absorbed.” 

“Well… I guess your absence means one less obstacle,” Olivier quipped back nonchalantly, earning an unguarded chuckle from Victoria. “But perhaps you’re not wrong for wanting to walk a different path, Victoria. The military’s not for everyone.” 

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely, straightening her posture and smoothing out any wrinkles or creases on her coat. “Perhaps our paths will cross again one day. Take care, my friend.” 

“You too,” she stared at Victoria’s disappearing silhouette as she sauntered towards the exit, a gloved hand in her pocket and another bidding her farewell. 

~x~

With such a systematically organised lifestyle Victoria’s desire for the freedom of being her own person was so overwhelmingly potent that she once believed that she would drift on forever seeking for some kind of dramatic turbulence that made her come alive - the darkness of each endless fall, the shimmering light of each ascent - in search for an escape from reality’s bitterness. 

And yet, when she first laid eyes on the sleeping bundle of innocence and perfection in her arms all of that had changed. When she had heard Elizabeth’s first sign of life it was like all of that turbulence left, as if she had found a panacea to her insatiable longing for all that was good in the world. 

She was _perfect_ , devastatingly so. 

Her darling Elizabeth - a name Berthold thought too much of a mouthful, so they compromised and shortened it to Riza, but in Victoria’s mind it was befitting for her beloved child who looked every bit like royalty. Riza brought her peace and comfort, like a slow river after the end of a tsunami that had gone and destroyed everything in its path, and called forth a love from her that she’d never been a recipient of, one that she hadn’t known she was capable of. 

Like an intimate revelation quivering on the horizon it dawned upon her that this, _this_ was what family meant: a love so deep, so utterly profound that it transcended beyond space and time, beyond the frailty of emotion and the human heart. 

A selflessness that triumphed her innate selfishness. 

It was so unlike what she’d conceived of family, growing up in the lonely Grumman household saddled with expectations of sacrifice and deprived of her personal autonomy. For the first time in her life, Victoria was content - eager, even - to live her life for someone else, to dedicate all her strength and might to protecting someone else. 

The sheer irony of such a dedication had startled her, for as she had confessed to her friend (or rival) years ago she had always been the more self-absorbed one. Unlike Olivier, she never once longed to protect those under her charge, but what she once thought of as impossible to feel for _anyone_ pulsed through every fiber of her being when she laid her eyes on her daughter - for whom she would have sacrificed her life in a heartbeat without hesitation, just so that she could live to see the sun rise for another day. 

Briefly, she caught herself thinking if it was possible to feel this way for millions of citizens resting their lives on their leader’s shoulders. 

_Is this what it feels like to be the leader of a nation, to be fraught with an overwhelming desire to protect someone, to have someone relying on you?_

But Victoria had shrugged that fleeting thought away - she didn’t need Amestris to hail her as a hero or defend a whole country to feel joy, feel accomplished like her father... 

She’d only wanted to protect Riza. 

The thought of being unable to do that brought forth a fresh spring of tears from her, and she couldn’t contain the sobs that wracked her emaciated frame violently even as her daughter walked in through the door and ran to her side immediately. Berthold trailed behind her, head hung low to hide his reddened eyes. 

“Mother, what’s wrong? Please don’t cry…” Riza crawled into her side and hugged her tightly, before reaching into her bag to take out a slightly wilted pink carnation. “I got this for you today, because I know these are your favorites. I love you, mother.”

Victoria smiled sadly at the flower and its intended meaning. “I love you more, Riza. I’ll always love you, and I’ll always watch over you, always protect you from the shadows,” she sobbed into her flaxen tresses, arms slowly going limp as she felt her energy slowly dissipate. 

“There’s so much I wish I could do for you, Riza,” she mourned, while continuing to embrace Riza with all the strength remaining in her. 

The small flames on the candles danced and flickered in the wind that came in with the ghostly, pale moonlight through the brittle glass windows in her room. Somewhere in their bushy, unkempt backyard, a black crow cawed, as if singing a haunting requiem for an inevitable loss of life. 

_I don’t want to die yet…_

She broke off from Riza as a coughing fit seizing her body, one hand at her mouth and another clawing at her chest, as if trying to pry out what was left of her weakened heart. Blood coalesced in her throat, her mouth, and Victoria kept coughing, trying to dislodge it as her breaths grew more shallow; as she cried at the cruel paradox of how her breath was being wrangled away from her when she’d finally found her purpose for living. 

Her world began to fade into darkness, and somewhere close, her daughter and her husband’s voices and hands comforted her, trying to assuage the pain, but it seemed that it would be of no avail. There was nothing that could be done to resist the oblivion beginning to swallow her.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more for you… Forgive me, Elizabeth,” she manages to whisper through cracked lips after the coughing fit finally ceases. With quivering hands, she presses her final letter into Riza’s palm and spends her last breath on a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was just an angst-filled chapter without any royai T_T writing victoria's death was emotionally difficult but oddly cathartic, and i hoped i managed to do her justice. 
> 
> anyway, i'm largely done with setting up the backstory for this like how I intended to, and our favourite boy will make a reappearance very, very soon ;)  
> hope everyone's all safe and well during this time *hugs* and as always, I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on tumblr if you're there, i'm firewoodfigs ^_^


	4. some farewells are eternal, others temporal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and his aunt make their way down to Tobha.

At age thirteen, Roy Mustang’s world was made up of thick, complicated books, pesky friends who bugged him to fix things for them and sisters who praised him for the little trinkets he transmuted, for this was the nature of most young alchemists learning to be proficient in the art. And while he enjoyed every glorious minute of it, he was admittedly starting to get restless, as most boys his age would from being trapped in a routine. For the most part, though, Roy was content to deal with it quietly - patience was a virtue alchemists had to master, after all - and so he tried to view these mundane days in Central as honing his craft, as delusional as it might have been. 

It therefore came as no surprise that he immediately jumped at the opportunity to be shipped off to some unknown town for months - years, even, because the prospect of breaking out of said routine was both terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and Roy had always been the naive, adventurous sort of young lad anyway. 

“You in there, Roy-boy?”

“Yes! What’s up, Aunt Chris?” Roy piped up in his squeaky, prepubescent voice as she opened the door. His aunt waltzed into his bedroom, frowning in disapproval when she noticed the books strewn around everywhere in a mess. He smiled sheepishly, but noted that her eyes were slightly red-rimmed - whether from alcohol or from crying, he wasn’t sure, but he took it as his cue to start cleaning up a little (or at least pretend to). 

“I have a proposal,” she began. He peered up at her curiously from a particularly dusty tome. “How’d you like to learn alchemy under a certain Berthold Hawkeye?” 

Roy’s eyes widened. Though his mouth was open, words eluded him and he didn’t quite know how to react to such shocking, yet exciting news. “I suppose that’s a yes?” 

“Yes, yes! Of course!” he grinned from ear to ear, the thought of finally having a master sending him giddy with enthusiasm. 

But suddenly he remembered: hadn’t that girl with the awful punch and her mother come from the countryside all those years ago? “Doesn’t he live quite far away from Central, though?” 

“That’s right. They live in Tobha, so you’ll be staying with them during your apprenticeship.” Roy pouted glumly. “Oh, don’t look so down, boy,” Christmas said, although her heart clenched traitorously at the thought of sending her precious nephew away. “You can come back and visit anytime. And this is too good of an opportunity to let slip, no?” 

He nodded thoughtfully. It _was_ a golden opportunity, and the sudden offer was like an answered prayer. 

“Then get packing, Roy-boy. We’ll leave in a few days.” As soon as she uttered those words and left, Roy set about packing immediately, excitement rushing through his veins at the thought of a new beginning. 

~x~

On the other hand, Riza’s disdain towards alchemy only grew stronger as the days passed after her mother’s death. The incident that solidified her resolve to stave off alchemy was when she’d brought up the delicate topic of _human transmutation_ to her father at her mother’s grave - something she’d only come across once in her life when her mother had tried to teach her alchemy, but never dared to try. 

It turned out to be the most unwise decision, if her father’s rage was any indication to go by. The ultimate taboo, he’d called it. _Sacrilegious_ \- she didn’t understand what that word meant, but it must have been something bad. He had simply said that it 'trespassed the territory of God' and left it at that. 

Riza’s father had never struck her as a religious man, though, so this only aggravated her confusion. Nevertheless, she learnt to never bring it up again, and though she was only all of ten she’d already come to learn that no amount of praying or wishing would bring her beloved mother back. 

For the most part, therefore, she spent her days with her sobs and books and sniffles in the isolated quietness of her room. Once or twice, her father might have tried to console her, but his cold, callused hand was unlike her mother’s warm, loving one and provided little comfort. 

Occasionally, she would leave the house for the grocer’s with the meagre lot of money her father left behind on the table. But interacting with the townsfolk, Riza found, only worsened the loneliness she felt. Though condolences were offered and sympathies were strewn around, as if distributing some kind of largesse, they were but meaningless platitudes that did nothing to quell the ache in her heart. 

She’d come to realise, soon enough, that she very much preferred solitude to company. Unfortunately, her father had informed her that he had another apprentice on the way, and while she’d been terrorised by the previous one she suppressed her fear and simply agreed noncommittally over dinner when he’d asked her to pick them up upon their arrival. 

Sighing, Riza sat on the battered swing in their backyard, clutching onto the loosening ropes tightly - as if doing so would preserve whatever was left of her childhood innocence - wishing her mother was still around to play with her and protect her from whatever monsters lurked around in their home. 

~x~

“Call. Write. Visit.” Vanessa said sharply, already feeling Roy’s absence. Not that she would ever admit out loud that she was going to miss him: he could be a total pain in the ass, as all brothers were prone to being. 

She stepped back to admire her handiwork once more before he boarded the train. Vanessa had taken it upon herself to dress Roy up for his departure and successfully transformed him into a clean, refined boy instead of the scruffy heathen that he generally was, and felt rather proud of the end result. 

Roy grinned, not missing her hidden message. “I’m gonna miss you too,” and he reached out to mess with her splendid curls. 

She grumbled. “Not the hair!” Roy laughed and hopped onto the train quickly with his aunt before she could get her revenge. 

“I’ll see you soon!” He waved excitedly to Vanessa and his other sisters as the train began to depart Central. 

Roy sank into the squeaking, rather uncomfortable seat with his aunt, opting for chips and soda for a midway snack while Christmas politely declined. 

The thought of having to stand before Victoria’s grave already made her queasy, and she doubted she would be able to stomach anything much. 

“Are you okay, auntie?” 

“Yeah,” she replied, a weak smile gracing her tired features. 

Roy remained unconvinced. His aunt clearly looked bothered, and it hadn’t just been this afternoon. “It’s just…” she paused, massaging her temples a little. “Do you remember Victoria?” Roy nodded. 

Christmas sighed. It was hard to explain the concept of death to a thirteen-year-old, but Roy was no ordinary boy. Having lost his parents at such a young age he was well-acquainted with the concept, and in any case he’d studied enough alchemy to understand that the dead didn’t come back from their grave. “She… she died a couple of weeks ago, Roy.” 

And suddenly, it clicked. Roy was well capable of taking care of himself despite his relatively tender age, and while he was not the most skilful cook around he would have honestly content to survive on country loaf and a quenched thirst for knowledge. 

It wasn’t so much sending _him_ off, as much as it was sending Victoria - the lady he thought he might have bumped into once more in Tobha - off. A chance for her to say her last goodbyes. 

“I’m sorry, auntie,” he whispered, leaning over to give her a loose hug as she combed her fingers through his hair. 

“I’m okay, boy. Just… make sure you work hard and study well, hm?” Roy nodded vigorously. “And one more thing. Take good care of her daughter, will you?” 

Roy flushes in embarrassment, nose wrinkling at the unpleasant memory of the last time he’d met that girl. 

Nonetheless, he relents. _Anything to make Aunt Chris feel better._

~x~ 

By the time they arrived the sky was a pretty palette of turquoise and purple, white clouds streaking across delicately like gossamer ribbons. Unhindered by the influx of tall buildings that were Central’s trademark, one could easily see the flickering stars paying a routine prelude to the evening-time that was dawning upon Tobha. 

Roy paused for a moment to admire the raffish charm of the rustic countryside, and as he did so he caught a whiff of coffee and bananas welcoming him from the small bakery nestled inconspicuously at the corner of the train station. Despite the countryside’s beauty, though, the atmosphere felt more melancholic than peaceful, and this much was certainly reinforced by the mournful contrition buried within his aunt’s frown. 

He reached over to squeeze his aunt’s hand tightly, wishing he could console her somehow.

Some farewells were temporary, like theirs, but others were permanent. Roy knew, from the grief splayed across her face in shades of grey, that a part of herself had dived down six feet under and died with her as well - an eternal farewell, a final ode to her short and enigmatic life. 

“Thanks, Roy. Let’s go - wouldn’t want to keep a girl waiting.” Christmas raised her chin to draw Roy’s attention to the scrawny girl seated at the rugged bench on the other end of the train station. 

His aunt nudged him to go over to where she was seated, and as the distance between them gets closer Roy realises that her hair was now a lot shorter than he remembered (not that he had a crush on her or anything - it was just difficult to forget the face of the first girl who had punched him for trying to do something nice). It was now a rough, hewn mane, falling somewhere around her chin, and though he figured she would have sent a baleful glare his way by now she seemed lost in thought, sorrow resting on her shoulders like an unwanted shawl. 

“Hello, Riza. Thank you for waiting for us,” Christmas tapped her lightly on her shoulder, breaking her out of her reverie. She stood immediately to bow, a little ashamed at herself for being so distracted. 

“Not at all. Uh…” Riza scrambled for her name, trying to recall what her mother had called her all those years ago. 

“Just call me Aunt Chris, Riza. And this is my nephew - if you remember?” 

“Roy Mustang,” he offered with the friendliest smile he could muster, but her propensity to respond with an odd mix of distance and disdain still remained intact after all those years - to him, at least. 

“Um, yes. Sorry about that,” Riza says to his aunt, averting her gaze from his. “Shall we go?” 

The trio walked together in companionable silence, Riza maintaining a distance from the both of them as she shrank into herself. Roy thought she looked no older than ten, but there was a certain air of maturity - the kind that was forged from hardship and turmoil - around her that didn’t sit well with him. 

“Ah, Riza - was it?” came the unfamiliar voice of a stranger halfway through their journey. “I’m sorry about your loss, your mother was a great person,” he offered, but though sympathy laced his condolence there was a sort of half-heartedness to it. 

“Thank you,” Riza murmured listlessly as she continued to move ahead. 

Roy wondered how many times the girl had heard these senseless platitudes by now. Guilt lingered on the tip of his tongue as he ambled along, unsure of how to comfort the younger girl. Normally, he would have opted for giving his sisters a hug or something along the lines, but they were _very_ tactile and fond of his hugs. Riza, though, was anything but. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hey… are you alright?” 

_What a dumb question - clearly she’s not._

“Yes,” she replied, as if out of instinct. Of _course_ she wasn’t going to divulge her feelings to someone she’d only been acquainted with for a grand total of a few hours. Roy kicked himself mentally, though he was thankful that his Aunt had declined to remark on his stupidity. 

“On that note, Riza… could we stop by your mother’s grave first?” 

“O-of course, Aunt Chris. It’s… it’s in our backyard, so it’s on the way.” They continued the journey in a relatively peaceful quiet. 

~x~ 

Roy was both awestruck and mortified by the weather-beaten mansion that stood before his eyes. It was big, isolated - unlike the cramped cluster of buildings he’d grown up surrounded by in Central - and reminded him a little of a haunted mansion. The bushy, unkempt backyard only served to reinforce his unease, but he wisely kept his mouth shut as they arrived before the lonely tombstone decorated with wilting carnations and peonies. 

He’d only ever seen Victoria once, and so grief didn’t hit him as hard - if barely at all. But his heart certainly ached seeing the way devastation devoured his aunt and Riza; how it darkened their eyes with a gloomy, sullen grey like the clouds above them. 

The sky rumbled faintly, and he felt the barest hint of a raindrop on his neck - once, twice - but he knew this was nothing compared to the weight pressing on their sunken shoulders. 

Roy watched as his aunt closed her eyes wearily, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood around them. Her eyes watered as she heaved, inexplicable grief consuming her. Quietly, he reached out to intertwine his stubby hands with her callused ones. 

The girl, on the other hand, stood proudly with a somewhat impassive expression, but she was biting her lip - hard - to keep from crying out loud. Her bottom lip quivered, her body trembled, and Roy’s other hand intuitively went to rest on her shoulder in what he thought was a comforting gesture. 

Except she flinched violently like he’d burnt her. 

“Sorry,” they both apologised hurriedly at the same time. Immediately he retracted his hand and stepped away from her, wondering if he’d done something wrong. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Riza jumped. She tapped on Christmas’ shoulder lightly. “We should go inside before we get caught in the storm.” As soon as she said that rain began pelting down viciously, unwelcomingly, and so she ushered them into the kitchen through the back door. 

“Father’s in his room, but I’m sure you’ll meet him tomorrow morning…” she whispered as she poured tea for them, the prospect of having to enter his _temple_ only served to unsettle her already troubled frame of mind further. 

“That’s quite alright, it’s already getting late,” Roy said as he rose to help her bring the cups over to the oaken dining table, taking extra care to avoid any kind of physical contact with her. _Friendly, but not touchy…_ “Have you had dinner, by the way?” 

Riza nodded shyly as she followed him back to the table, warming her fingers with her own cup of tea. 

“Thank you, Riza,” Christmas hummed appreciatively at the soothing drink. “You’re probably sick of hearing apologies and condolences, so I’ll refrain from doing so...” Riza said nothing, only stared placidly at the table top as she fiddled with the hem of her plain black dress. “Although - how are you coping, child?” 

“I’m… I’m fine, thank you,” she muttered quietly. The rain was beginning to subside into a light shower, but even then Roy found that it had the effect of almost drowning out her quiet voice. 

“Are you sure?” 

Riza nodded, keeping her eyes trained on her cup. 

Christmas sighed wistfully at the awareness that she, like her mother, was a stubborn one who would neither budge nor talk readily about matters of the heart. She decided to let it slide. “Alright… if you need anything just…” she paused, unsure of herself - she wished there was more she could have done for the girl, but she had to return to Central soon. “Just call me, or let Roy know.” 

Roy caught the meaningful look his aunt gave him and nodded imperceptibly. Though he wasn’t particularly fond of the girl he took his duty to be civil - friendly, even - to her very seriously, and growing up with a swarm of women around him had developed an almost innate desire in him to protect the opposite sex. 

“O-okay. Thank you, Aunt Chris.” 

“Not at all. Alright, I should probably get going.” The drizzle had stopped, and she’d finished her tea. “Thank you for picking us up and for the tea, Riza.” She reached over to pat Riza fondly on the head. 

Riza blushed slightly before excusing herself to fetch an umbrella for the older woman. 

“So soon, auntie?” Roy pouted. _Please don’t leave me alone with this girl._

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss the last train.” Christmas pulled her nephew into a suffocating hug despite his muffled protests. “Take care, you silly boy. And take care of Riza, too.” 

He nodded solemnly just as Riza returned with a blue umbrella. “Here you go, Aunt Chris, in case it starts raining again.” 

“Thanks, Riza. You’re very sweet.” 

Red mottled her cheeks with renewed vigour, and she ducked slightly to hide it. It’d only been a couple of weeks since her mother’s passing, but already Riza felt like an eternity had passed since she’d been privy to such open, unfettered affection. 

Christmas bent down slightly to reach her eye level. “Take care, Riza. Don’t hesitate to contact me if my idiot nephew does anything stupid, or if he bothers you in any way.” 

“Hey!” Roy sputtered indignantly. Riza couldn’t help but chuckle faintly at the offer, and nodded in acquiescence. 

“Right. I’ll be making a move first, kids. See you all soon.” Riza led them to the front door with a small smile. She liked the woman - she was funny, and every sliver of roughness was accompanied by a niceness that showed itself to the observant. 

“Bye,” they chorused. 

The two children found themselves standing awkwardly beside each other after Christmas left. 

To Roy’s surprise, it was Riza who broke the silence first. “I’ll… I’ll show you to your room.” She began walking wordlessly, placing a careful distance between them. Roy trailed behind her with his bag, a brief smile gracing his features as the recollection of doing the same in a quaint cake shop years ago came back to him. 

Riza shuddered when they arrived at the room, the disconcerting memory of a dastardly apprentice hitting her like a pile of bricks. She swallowed, trying to convince herself that she could take out the weedy boy beside her if push came to shove. Or at the very least, punch him in the nose or complain to his aunt that he was being a nuisance. 

“Are you alright?” Roy asked, for the second time that day. 

“Yes. I’ll leave you to rest... Mr. Mustang.” 

His nose wrinkled in disgust. _That makes me sound like some kind of ancient... grandfather…_

Before he could protest, though, Riza had already scurried away, leaving him alone with his unspoken objection. 

Roy sighed as he entered the room - it was surprisingly neat and empty, cleaned to sparkling perfection - and dropped his bag on the creaking, wooden floor before flopping on the bed. 

It had been a long day. Roy wanted nothing more to sleep, but the ceiling overhead suddenly seemed infinitely interesting - the only companion to the thoughts flooding his adolescent brain. 

Already, he felt himself missing his aunt and his sisters. Growing up surrounded by noise and chatter meant that he was unaccustomed to such quiet solitude, but he had a nagging feeling that this was the very nature of the Hawkeye manor, if the girl’s personality was any indication. She was painfully reserved, and he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to break the ice, much less take care of her like his aunt had tasked him to. Any attempt at conversation had been nothing short of pathetic, and he highly doubted that anything beyond acquaintanceship was even possible. 

Roy didn’t sleep well that night. Worry addled his poor mind, and though he’d tried to distract himself with alchemical theories the sun was already beginning to rise when he cracked his eyes open again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... aaaand they finally reunite (much to Riza's chagrin). I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear what you think, comments are always welcome and appreciated :) // say hi on tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs ^_^
> 
> //
> 
> it's been a trying time, and i pray that everyone is safe and well during this period. take care 💕


	5. upholding a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy begins his lessons under Master Hawkeye, and tries, somewhat reluctantly, to befriend Miss Hawkeye.

Berthold Hawkeye was a straw-haired man with a rather hard mouth, tall and quite thin but upright, with a long chin and a prominent, pointed nose. When he was not talking his teeth were covered by cracked, purplish lips, and though his eyes were the colour of the clearest sky at the height of summer, they were filled with nothing but austerity and solemnity. 

All in all, Roy’s first impression of him was that he was a rather intimidating man. 

The appearance of his room certainly didn’t help soften Roy’s initial perceptions of him, either. Books congregated on the shelves beside his bed in a crowded, disorganised fashion (upon closer inspection he realised, in awe, that there were rare, limited editions too - books that might not even be in publication anymore), and loose parchments were strewn messily all over his table. The only signs of respite were the bottles of alcohol and porcelain teacups kept in a cupboard the colour of burnt sienna with glass windows, a brown envelope, and a faded picture of what Roy surmised must have been of his late wife, or perhaps a family photo. Apart from that, his Master looked every bit like the eccentric, reclusive genius that he’d been notoriously described as. Why, even his blinds were tightly shut despite the bright, cheery day outside! 

The entire atmosphere was disconcertingly bleak (and dusty). Nevertheless, Roy shrugged these observations aside and steeled his resolve to learn. 

“Uh… good morning... Master Hawkeye. I’m Roy Mustang,” he greeted, hoping he got the honorific right. He had a nagging feeling that formalities had a special place in this estate - an unspoken but uncrossable invisible boundary - unlike in his own place of residence where the word _idiot_ was thrown around as a term of endearment and affection. 

But his aunt had raised him, and raised him _well_ , to boot. He could - no, he _would_ meet their standards of politeness if that was what was required for him to retain his apprenticeship. 

The man allowed some space for trivial pleasantries before going straight to business. “Good morning to you too, Roy. I hope you had a good rest last night.” He nodded curtly at his new pupil while sizing him up. “Any background knowledge?” 

Roy felt every bit like a specimen being examined under a microscope under his harsh gaze. He fidgeted a little, self-conscious. “A little, sir, but just the basics,” _Master Hawkeye_ was a bit of a mouthful, but the man didn’t seem to mind too much. 

His master withdrew a porcelain teacup from the cupboard and promptly dropped it on the floor, shattering it into smithereens without batting an eyelid despite the jarring noise it made. “Show me,” he ordered gruffly. 

Roy went straight to work, extricating the white chalk that he always kept in the pockets of his trousers for emergency purposes like… well, like these circumstances, he supposed. With practiced ease, he drew a transmutation circle before clapping his hands together in a stance that resembled a prayer. 

(Technically, a part of him might as well have been praying to a God he wasn’t sure existed. Fixing broken things was his province, thanks to his clumsy sisters, but things were considerably trickier whenever fragile, larger objects were involved.) 

Roy furrowed his brow in concentration and pushed aside any hint of nervousness that might have bugged him. The circle glowed; a blue light emanating from the array as it was activated, and soon enough the teacup was repaired to its original state. 

His master bent over to scrutinise it carefully. Roy’s prayers that the tiny, little crack left behind would go unnoticed went unheard. “Not perfect,” he stated. 

“Err… sorry, Master Hawkeye. I could try again,” he offered quickly. 

“It’s fine,” he interrupted before Roy could make another attempt at restoring the teacup. “It’s a good indication of where you stand currently as an alchemist. There’s still much to be learnt, but perhaps revising your fundamentals first would be helpful.” 

Roy nodded agreeably with a strained smile, hoping that it would hide his slight disappointment and chagrin. 

“One more thing. You’ve met my daughter, yes?” 

“Yes, Master Hawkeye...” he trailed off, wondering if there was more to his question. 

“That’s Miss Hawkeye to you. And don’t bother her,” he commanded. There was a subtle hint of worry to his order that wasn’t lost on Roy. Briefly, he wondered what _bother_ meant, but he reassured himself that basic human interaction didn’t count as bothersome… Or so he hoped. 

“Look through this for now before we embark on other things. If you need more material you can ask me. Otherwise, feel free to do your own research in the library down the corridor,” his Master continued, before dismissing him out of the room with a couple of heavy, ragged textbooks and stacks of paper that smelt vaguely of dust and sandalwood. 

Roy gulped as he stared at the door, still rather discomfited with the barrier of stringent formality erected between him and the members of the Hawkeye manor. Regardless, he’d acceded to his request readily, if only to appease his - well, the man was certainly stern, but he wasn’t necessarily terrifying, he supposed - master, and to put the stiff, rigid blond with a remarkable disdain for social interaction at ease. 

The two of them were _nothing_ like how he remembered Victoria to be… And Roy couldn’t help but wonder just how badly affected they were by her passing, especially the young blond. 

Her father struck him as the sort of alchemist who could bury himself in research for days without so much as a slice of bread, or a morsel of basic human interaction. Perhaps that was where her reticence came from? Because her mother had been quite the charming persona; friendly. She had an uncanny ability to light up the room with an almost theatrical light, and it was easy to open up to her when she’d approached them with her affable manners and cordial smiles. 

Unlike her, though, Riza - _no, Miss Hawkeye_ , Roy mentally chided himself - wasn’t the most agreeable or likeable person he’d ever met, although he was grateful for the little sandwiches and pot of tea that had been left behind on the table earlier today. 

But duty (because his aunt’s request conveniently chose to resurface in his mind at that point) and pity overwhelmed his conscience, and Roy hoped that an opportunity for some kind of interaction would arise in the evening.

~x~ 

Roy ate dinner by himself that night. 

As it turned out, the Hawkeyes preferred to eat dinner alone, in the isolated privacy of their room. Had he known this, he would've gone out to the kitchen earlier instead to offer help to whoever was preparing dinner. But fatigue had overcome him, and he’d fallen asleep on one of the books Master Hawkeye had assigned him to read earlier that day. 

Thankfully, he hadn’t drooled on any of the pages, but he did have an embarrassingly discernible line on his face when he’d woken up. 

Afterwards, when he made his way to the kitchen in anticipation and apprehension (he tried to think of possible topics of conversation, but there were close to none that resonated well with him), he found that, regrettably, only a single portion of food had been left out on the table. 

Sighing, Roy sat on the wooden chair and picked at his vegetables glumly. The fare was simple, and rather bland: it consisted of plain porridge, spinach and a small side of boiled chicken. But he ate quickly, eager to return to his room so that he could be over and done with the rudimental principles of alchemy. The sooner he was done with them, the sooner he could delve into more interesting subject matters and fulfil his ambitious dream of becoming an exceptional alchemist. 

He observed the interior of the estate furtively while he ate under the dim glow of the candlelight. Despite the relative grandeur of the Hawkeye manor - in terms of size and architecture, at least - there were understated signs of undoubted wear and tear everywhere. The loose skeins of the curtains that fluttered gently in the night breeze, the threadbare carpets and worn-out furniture and the peeling, dingy walls all reflected that maintenance and upkeep proved to be a most uphill task.

Especially when borne only by a lonely pair of hands. 

Roy suspected that Master Hawkeye wasn’t the kind of man to occupy himself with trifles like his apartment’s appearance, if the state of his room was any indication. Anything to do with tidying the household was therefore more likely than not left to Miss Hawkeye. 

In silence thus he ate, as his mind ran through the theories he’d revised earlier in the afternoon and the nature of their relationship. How lonely must Miss Hawkeye have felt since her mother’s passing? When she’d mentioned her father to him the evening before, there was a brittle sort of fearful reverence to her voice. Was her father as strict to her as he had been to Roy, or worse? 

Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of lithe, light footsteps making its way towards the kitchen sink. Roy jumped slightly, startled by the sudden intrusion. But he could faintly make out Miss Hawkeye’s silhouette in the dark as he turned around to look. 

_Here comes my chance, after all!_

With all the voraciousness of a starved animal, Roy quickly shovelled the remainders of his dinner down his throat before greeting the younger girl. “Evening, Ri - Miss Hawkeye,” he called, giving her a jaunty, little wave. 

She nodded quietly in his direction to acknowledge his presence; arms preoccupied with the grimy, oily crockery that she’d intended to clean. Hers and Master Hawkeye’s, he realised, noting the relatively tall pile. 

Roy stood with his own as he likewise ambled over to the sink with her, taking care to maintain a respectable distance between them lest he made any kind of physical contact with her. 

“Need a helping hand?” he offered sunnily. 

“It’s fine. Just leave yours there, I’ll do it with the rest,” she replied, not quite meeting his eyes. 

Roy frowned. The last time he’d done that to Donna, one of his many older sisters, Aunt Chris had nearly butchered him alive. She’d proclaimed that such behaviour was _most unbecoming of a gentleman_ before dragging him back to the sink by the ear with a derisive grunt. Shuddering at the memory, he tried again. “It’s alright - I insist.” 

Miss Hawkeye made a small noise of protest, but before she could express any further remonstration he began scrubbing idly at his own plates with a sponge while she went through her own share of unclean utensils. Her movements were fastidious, meticulous; she made sure to clean every corner, every edge thoroughly before rinsing down soap and grime with running water. 

Roy couldn’t help but smile slightly. Miss Hawkeye struck him as the kind of person who took pride in everything she did, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. Even the food she’d left out for him earlier had been arranged carefully in a pretty, presentable manner. “Thank you for breakfast and dinner, by the way,” he said.

“Oh… you’re welcome, I guess.” 

He grinned at her, but Miss Hawkeye merely offered a small shrug in response. Desperate, his mind scrambled for something else to say to fill the silence beginning to dawn upon them as she dried the plates that she was done with washing. “So, are you an alchemist, too?” 

She stiffened visibly at his question. “No, I’m not.” 

Roy couldn’t help but wonder if his foot would always find its way to his mouth. “I - I see,” he gave her a reassuring smile as he dabbed at his plate with the drying cloth. “I just thought…” He trailed off unsurely. It probably wasn’t wise to verbalise his presumption that she would have taken after her father. “Never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

“It’s alright,” she murmured, deftly slotting the flatware into the spaces of the silver rack beside her. But her shoulders were still tense, and her eyes looked downcast somehow. 

“Um… if you don’t mind me asking… why not?” 

Another shrug. “I don’t have the talent for it,” she stated matter-of-factly, though she appeared somewhat dismayed by her own admission. 

“That’s alright,” he replied, flashing a grin which he hoped was more genial and genuine, than patronising. “Not everyone has to be an alchemist. None of my sisters are, but they’re all special and talented in their own ways, you know?” 

“Mm,” she hummed, half-hearted.

Roy racked his brains for something else to say in a miserable, contrived attempt to divert their attention to something else. “Anyway... How was school today?”

“Fine, thank you.” He waited for the elaboration, but none came. Clearly, Miss Hawkeye was not one keen to prattle on about the paltry minutiae of her everyday life. Now that the dishes were all clean and neatly stacked, there was really no other reason to keep her hanging around the kitchen... 

And her eagerness to leave was evident. “I hope your lessons are going well so far, Mister Mustang. Have a good evening.” Drying her hands with the rag, she then turned on her heels to retire to her room, leaving him alone by the sink. 

_Well… that didn’t seem to go very well._ The girl was obviously disinterested in sustaining any semblance of a conversation with him, and though he’d tried to keep it going he wasn’t sure if the questions had only served to offend her.

With a weary, defeated sigh, he plodded back to his room, lamenting her - _or his?_ \- social skills. Had his attempts at small talk amounted to _bothering_ Miss Hawkeye? He wasn’t too sure. Regardless, Roy vowed to try again, undeterred. He wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about trying to befriend someone like her, but he had promised his aunt, after all. 

And a promise was a promise. 

On the bright side, Miss Hawkeye hadn’t clobbered him in the face since he arrived in Tobha… Yet, at least. Roy hoped fervently that it would _never_ happen. He didn’t know enough medical alchemy to fix a broken nose, and he most certainly did not want to travel around the countryside with a disfigured visage. 

~x~ 

Afterwards, Roy made it a point to try to catch Miss Hawkeye around the kitchen for dinner, in hopes of befriending her. He’d offered to help her with dinner on various occasions, more than happy to extend a helping hand to peel potatoes or chop carrots. Upon his sisters’ and aunt’s advice, he'd even invited her to have dinner with him, but for the most part it was met with persistent objections. 

Occasionally, she would relent, but her proclivity for introversion and seclusion stubbornly remained. Miss Hawkeye never said more than was necessary, as if hesitant to divulge _any_ kind of information to him. And when she _did_ speak, there was always a hint of fear and suspicion lingering in her bright, ochre eyes… almost like she was afraid that he would do something bad or untoward to her, or that he had some sort of hidden agenda behind every move. 

This bothered Roy, because he didn’t think of himself as a scary person. If anything, _he_ feared Miss Hawkeye. She was unpredictable and impossible to read: her placid expressions gave nothing away, and talking to her often felt a little like he was walking on eggshells. Unlike his sisters, who at least gave him a warning sign of sorts when their moods were about to go haywire, there was nothing like that from her. 

And, of course, the punch he’d gotten from her all those years ago had never quite left his mind. 

Nonetheless, he continued reaching out to Miss Hawkeye. Once or twice, emboldened by a desperation for companionship, he’d invited her to read with him by the fireplace. But she seemed determined to minimise any possible contact with him, and simply stated that she focused better _alone,_ before retiring to her room with unparalleled haste. 

Any attempt to strike conversation with his Master beyond lesson-time also proved to be a most futile endeavour. God, the man was a total hermit. Roy hardly ever saw him leave his room, save for a cup of coffee or the occasional toilet break. He didn’t bother coming out for meals, either. Even those were delivered to him at his doorstep by Miss Hawkeye. Wordlessly, of course. 

To his credit, he was a truly _brilliant_ alchemist; the very living definition of erudition. Roy learnt more over the past few weeks than he ever did in his transient existence, but despite his enthusiasm Master Hawkeye was always quick to dismiss him once he was done going through the intended content for the day. The man was ill-disposed of any kind of socialising apart from teaching and imparting knowledge. 

Weeks, then months went on like this. Gregarious by nature, Roy found himself getting increasingly restless and - dare he say, _lonely -_ by the utter lack of conviviality in the Hawkeye manor. Despite trying his valiant best, he’d made very little progress befriending Miss Hawkeye, if any at all. She wasn’t necessarily hostile or unkind, but with every attempt he began to feel more and more like a failure who would never live up to the word he gave Aunt Chris. 

Such was the very subject of his complaints during one of his calls back home. 

“Look, I’ve been trying my best, Emily, but she’s just… antisocial? I don’t know. She - It's starting to get on my nerves,” he grumbled. Why did the responsibility of taking care of someone like her have to fall on his shoulders, anyway? From what he gathered she could take care of herself just fine, and she seemed to prefer solitude to company.

“I know,” she replied gently. Emily was one of his older sisters, and also one of the nicest, wisest people he’d ever met. Generally mild-mannered and soft-tempered; she only lost her cool and composure whenever some sleazy bastard lurked around the tavern and compromised his sisters’ safety. “But try to be a little understanding, alright? She hasn’t had the easiest time after all, what with losing her mother at such a tender age… And if her father is indeed anything like you make him out to be, then I’m guessing she doesn’t have the best relationship with him either. It must be lonely for her too, hm?” 

“Yeah…” Roy conceded glumly. He hated to admit it, but she was right. Just because Miss Hawkeye was accustomed to being alone didn't mean that she was immune to loneliness. “Thanks, I guess…” On the other side of the phone, he could hear Vanessa shouting at him to stop being such a wuss. “I’m not a wuss!” He retorted, taking umbrage at her comments. _She_ wasn't the one having to endure and navigate through the incomprehensible intricacies of the Hawkeye family, for goodness' sake! 

Emily shushed Vanessa, but only after chuckling endearingly at Roy's plight herself. “All the best, Roy. Take care, and keep us updated. Oh, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to befriend the other children in Tobha as well,” was her final advice before the line went dead. 

Roy sighed as he hung up, before trudging back begrudgingly to the Hawkeyes’ estate to resume his studies. The gloomy undercurrent of his new residence was starting to _really_ get to him, and he wondered if the idea of befriending Miss Hawkeye was but a consolatory theory incapable of ever materialising. 

Truthfully, he was tired of always having to be the one initiating conversation. Not just that - _sustaining_ it, too. Miss Hawkeye had a natural penchant for killing conversation, and he figured if she was so reluctant to speak to him he might as well take up Emily’s suggestion and talk to the other townsfolk instead. 

And when he arrived back to an empty dinner table again… Roy decided that yes, he would do so tomorrow for the sake of preserving his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Roy xD better luck next chapter, perhaps! 
> 
> // 
> 
> Feedback and comments are always appreciated - I'd love to hear what you think! I hope you've all been well, too. :) Sorry this took awhile - royaiweek certainly kept me busy (but very entertained), and I've been stricken with a ton of other AUs recently, like **all that glitters is not gold** xD But chapter 6 will be up soon!  
> Say hi on Tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs ^_^


	6. becoming acquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy ventures out to town in an attempt to make new friends. Along the way, he finds out that Miss Hawkeye has a secret admirer, and when he sees her being trapped in a less-than-ideal situation he attempts to intervene and help her out a little.

His subsequent lesson the next day with Master Hawkeye had gone relatively well. Roy thought he’d made remarkable improvement since his first test after many all-nighters spent on revision and practice. Although his teacher gave no verbal reaffirmation or praise of any sort, he was inclined to believe that the fact that he hadn’t been thrown out yet was clear evidence of his progress. That, coupled with the fact that he’d finally managed to repair broken teacups without any visible cracks left behind. 

And after being quizzed on the basic components of composition and deconstruction (without any query as to how his week had gone, of course), Roy decided to reward himself with a relaxing stroll in the countryside. Because for the first time _ever_ , Master Hawkeye had _smiled_ at him. His scarecrow of a teacher had _smiled_ at him, for goodness’ sake! 

… Well, maybe it wasn’t so much a smile, as much as it was an imperceptible twitch of his lower lip, but it had been _there_ , nonetheless _._ Maybe he deserved a couple of treats from the nearby bakery too? It had been a long day after all, and his stomach was rumbling earnestly after a full day of learning and studying. 

But perhaps most of all, Roy was looking forward to finally meeting (and hopefully befriending) the other townsfolk. Though he was slightly worried that his social skills had gone rusty, maybe even defunct after months of what might as well have been solitary confinement, he was _sorely_ desperate for human contact. Especially after the lonely, dreary dinner last night. 

So when he was approached by a petite girl with brown, glossy curls and a sunny smile, along with her little entourage, he was more than happy to entertain them and their curious questions. God, he’d almost forgotten how much of a joy it was to have someone _initiate_ conversation with him, instead of the other way round.

“Hi!” she greeted with a vivacious smile and an easy wave. “Are you new here? We haven’t really seen you around much apart from your occasional trip to the postman’s and the grocer’s,” she said, gesturing to herself and the other children. They were a small group of four; all who looked to be about his age. 

“Uh… yeah, kind of. I only arrived about a few months ago? I haven’t explored Tobha much since then because I’ve been… well, preoccupied with stuff. What are your names?” 

“I’m Juliet, and these two,” she pointed to the two boys with cornflower-like tresses and eyes the colour of the ocean, “are Elias and Lucas. And this girl…” 

“I’m Amelia,” interjected a slightly taller girl with thick, rust-coloured hair that tumbled all the way down to her waist in large ringlets. Freckles adorned her sun-kissed cheeks, and she was decked in a feminine, olive-coloured dress that complimented her green eyes nicely. “You?” 

“I’m Roy Mustang. It’s nice to meet you all,” he introduced himself with a pleased, confident grin. 

“Nice to meet you, too. Where are you from?” Juliet asked innocuously, peering up at him from her long, curly eyelashes.

“I’m from Central.”

“So you’re Amestrian?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. With his pale complexion and black hair; smaller eyes and downward-slanting lashes he was aware that he didn’t really fit in with the general Amestrian population. This much was certainly reinforced by the ostensible lack of people who looked like him in the countryside. The general majority of them had blonde hair, like Miss Hawkeye and his Master, and while black was not an uncommon hair colour most of them didn’t have his softer, less prominent features either. 

“Uh, no offence, but how do you speak our language so well when you look like that?” Roy was slightly affronted by Lucas’ question - _when I look like that? What’s that supposed to mean? -_ but otherwise chose to shrug it off. He _had_ been on the receiving end of such remarks before, after all, and the best response was to just… play it cool. In any case, the boy seemed harmless enough, and he was inclined to attribute his question to inoffensive ignorance rather than deliberate malice. 

“Lucas!” Juliet scolded, scandalised. “You can’t just ask people questions like that!” 

“That’s alright,” Roy reassured. “I’ve lived in Amestris all my life,” _or for most of it, at least_ , “so I suppose you could say Amestrian is my native language…?” 

“Oh, okay. Sorry if I offended you,” Lucas offered, chagrined. “So what’ve you been busy with?” he inquired, quickly changing the subject. 

“I came here to learn alchemy, so that’s been keeping my hands full.” Roy sincerely hoped he didn’t sound like a conceited jerk or the nerd that Vanessa always proclaimed him to be. 

Elias whistled, impressed. “Alchemy, huh? Are you studying under… you know, Mister Hawkeye?” 

“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed, wondering if his reputation for eccentricity was as widespread around Tobha as he’d originally thought it to be. 

“Ugh,” Amelia said. “The guy gives me the creeps, I swear.” 

“Well, yeah, but Mrs. Hawkeye was a sight to behold, man. Gotta hand it to his daughter, too. She sure got lucky with the genetic lottery,” Elias laughed. 

… Were they talking about the same Miss Hawkeye, or did his Master have another daughter that he didn’t know about? “You mean… Riza Hawkeye?” Roy asked hesitantly. 

“Well, yeah. If you’re a scientist, you should know how genetics work, right?”

“Uh-huh... “ Roy didn’t quite like where this was going. 

“Dude, her mom was like the village belle, man. I don’t reckon a single boy hasn’t fawned over her beauty before, and if she grows up to be anything like that…” he sighed, like a schoolboy fantasising about his crush. 

He scrunched his face in confusion. So they _were_ talking about the same girl, after all. No doubt her mother had been quite the charming lady, but to be honest, it was nearly impossible to draw the resemblance between Miss Hawkeye and what little he remembered of her mother. Roy couldn’t see anything beyond the taciturn, pint-sized urchin who avoided him like the plague and looked like a boy; with a fringe as crooked as the horizon above the Drachman mountains. To think that even _she_ had a secret admirer… she’d probably butcher Elias alive with a cleaver if she ever found out. 

But he supposed, like Emily always said, beauty lay in the eyes of the beholder. “Right…” 

Amelia let out a derisive grunt under her breath as she smacked Elias on the shoulder, choosing to side with Roy’s sentiments. “I don’t know what you see in her, really. She’s like a little clam shell, always in her own world. Barely speaks a word to anyone else in the village, you know?” Beside her, Juliet nodded quietly in agreement. 

This was true, but Roy didn’t think it was a very nice thing to say, and so he attempted to defend Miss Hawkeye with… well, it might have been a bit of a lie, but his Aunt did mention that white lies were sometimes necessary for the greater good. “She’s not too bad once you get to know her, actually.” Never mind that he hadn’t actually had the opportunity to _get to know her_ ; it would probably do Miss Hawkeye good to have other friends her age too. 

Amelia shrugged, still rather unconvinced. “Speak of the devil - there she is,” she deadpanned, pointing a finger towards the general direction of a school. 

Turning his head to look, he found that it was indeed Miss Hawkeye; looking as solemn as ever as she ambled on with her scruffy, tattered sneakers and a gray cloud looming over her head. From the distance he could barely make out a few other girls trying to converse with her as they passed by, but any attempt seemed short-lived as she picked up her pace. Clearly, she was still as guarded as ever. Roy didn’t know whether to be relieved or saddened that her unfriendliness wasn’t targeted solely at him. 

Before she could move further ahead, though, she was halted by a large, pudgy boy whose stance seemed rather… unfriendly - no, aggressive? _Oh no, is Miss Hawkeye in trouble?_

“Oh crap, it’s Alex,” Elias whispered, nudging Lucas with his left arm. 

“You know him?” 

“Yeah, we heard bad things about him from the younger kids,” Lucas’ face wrinkled in disgust. “We all go to the same school, but we ended our classes earlier today,” he added. 

“Or played hooky,” Amelia grinned. 

Roy frowned, concerned. Though he was enjoying his brief respite with the little group he’d met, his aunt’s words echoed in his mind once more. _Take care of her._ Abandoning Miss Hawkeye while she was being confronted by a surly, unpleasant bully certainly wouldn’t fulfil his promise; his duty to the younger girl... “I’ll be right back,” he said, already fast on his heels as he began to walk over to where she was. 

“Hey!” Amelia called. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble -” 

“ _She’s_ going to be in trouble if we don’t do something,” Roy turned around to answer, as Elias nudged them to follow after him. They trailed behind him with a marked distance between them, huddled together, footsteps reluctant and slow; quite obviously unwilling to get themselves involved in the mess that was likely about to unfurl before their eyes. 

And as he inched closer, he could hear bits and pieces of the confrontation that was unfolding between them. Roy crossed the remaining distance in no time, the worry quickening his pace. 

“So, I heard you topped your class, huh?” He sneered condescendingly, waving a slip of crumpled paper in her face as he kicked a stone aside in her direction. Roy was a little surprised to see that her fist hadn’t already landed in his pudgy, repugnant face. But given that the obnoxious boy was nearly twice her size, he supposed it made sense why she was trying to avoid conflict. 

“Give it back,” she called, softly but firmly. Even with the impending threat ahead of her she didn’t seem to falter. 

“She’s a brave little thing, that’s for sure,” Elias whispered from behind him as he tried, miserably, to hide behind Roy’s smaller frame. 

“Quiet, you,” Juliet shushed, trying to make their presence inconspicuous. 

The bully who’d been accosting her originally turned to notice them for a moment, before switching his gaze back to the mop of blond hair beneath him, ruffled by the strong gust of wind that swept past them. “So what, now you’ve brought your little entourage along for backup? I didn’t know you even had friends, _Miss Hawkeye_ ,” he jeered. 

“They’re not,” she bit back. A little twinge of hurt flitted through Roy when she said that. He tried to convince himself that she was doing so to protect them, but it was true. They really weren’t _friends_ , truth be told. 

Her words certainly didn’t have the same effect on the rest, though. They only sighed in relief as they recoiled back, cowering behind Roy’s less-than-intimidating presence to hide from Alex’s wrath. 

“Give it back,” she tried again, a little more scathingly this time as her face twisted into a sullen glower. 

He laughed snidely and drew back his hand. “Come and get it for yourself, then,” he taunted, waving her result slip high above her head. Far beyond her reach. 

Miss Hawkeye’s frown deepened. Something close to utter resentment was beginning to harden there. Roy felt his heart clench in sympathy for her. And so just as Alex was about to toss it aside, for it to be carried by the wind… 

He chose to intervene at that exact moment, using his height to his advantage to snatch it away from his grasp. “What the hell? Who are you?” 

_Not a friend,_ he wanted to say. “Just… a passerby disgusted by your actions.” Up close, Roy finally got a good look of just how unpleasant he was, to put it mildly. Though his hair was the colour of sunlight his face was far from being as bright or cheery; only disdainful, and his odious character seeped through every mark of puberty on his unsightly face. 

“How can you even see what I’m doing with those eyes, you chink?” He grunted, raising his fists as he prepared to strike. 

Now, this. _This_ was the kind of deliberate malice that provoked him and sent his blood boiling. Undeterred by the prospect of getting into a full-blown, physical brawl, Roy responded in kind, fists likewise raised, quaking in anger as his jaw clenched tightly. He would not lose, for sure. Though he was smaller in physique he would not let him get away with his derogatory comments; with treating Miss Hawkeye like that - 

But before his fist could even connect with his face, Alex had fallen to the ground with a winded wheeze as a rock hit him square in the gut. _Hard._

“Why… you little…” he rasped, cradling his abused stomach. The scowl he’d been wearing on his unpleasant visage deepened further, a feat Roy didn’t think was possible. 

Roy blinked at the scene before him in shock, whirling around to face Miss Hawkeye who was now glaring furiously, almost imperiously, at him. Behind her, the other kids stared in awe and fear as they retreated further back, exchanging hushed whispers and promises between themselves to _never_ cross the younger girl. 

Clearly embarrassed by the unanticipated turn of events, Alex attempted to get back on his feet (the blow had been enough to knock him down, but not _out_ ). Anger and humiliation flashed hotly in his eyes. Roy was _sure_ that he was the vengeful sort who would no doubt seek to make Miss Hawkeye repay by suffering twice as much. 

Not knowing what else to do (his first priority was to make sure Miss Hawkeye wouldn’t get herself in harm’s way), Roy quickly grabbed her wrist and ran, beckoning the rest to do the same. Though his legs were considerably longer than hers she had no trouble keeping up, betraying a level of athleticism he hadn’t thought her scrawny frame to be capable of. Likewise, the other kids scurried for their dear lives, panting loudly as they tried to catch up with the duo. 

Once they were a safe distance away, Miss Hawkeye immediately tried to wriggle her wrist out of his hold, cheeks now flushed a bright scarlet. Whether it was out of embarrassment or anger or exhaustion, he didn’t know. But he did know of her immense disdain for physical contact… Roy let go immediately, retracting his hand like he’d touched fire while the other remained firmly clenched around her test score papers. 

She made no move to hit him, thankfully. But faces peered at her from over his shoulder in curiosity and bewilderment, and she stared down at her well-worn, threadbare shoes quietly, hands wrangling nervously against each other. 

Sensing her discomfort, Roy quickly thought of something to excuse themselves. “Sorry about that,” he apologised to the other kids that had followed them throughout the entire incident. “We gotta make a move first, but I’ll see you guys around soon?” As soon as the words left his mouth Miss Hawkeye was already headed back home. He turned around to follow suit after giving them one last wave, speeding up so that he could catch up with her. 

Unbeknownst to Roy, Juliet’s eyes continued to linger on him, a deep pink colouring her cheeks as she watched his retreating silhouette from afar. 

~x~

Roy approached her slowly when he saw her preparing dinner that night in the kitchen, like she was a skittish animal. “Um… hi,” he called softly, not wanting to scare her. 

“Good evening, Mister Mustang,” Miss Hawkeye greeted back softly, occupying herself with peeling a bunch of carrots and potatoes. 

Taking this as a sign that she was willing to tolerate his presence, at least, he slowly inched forward to where she was. “Can I help?” 

“...Sure,” she replied offhandedly, before handing him an unpeeled carrot. Roy set out to work, glancing at her from the corner of his eye discreetly every now and then. Though his movements were nowhere as efficient as hers, he eventually managed to get most of the skin out by mimicking her. 

He handed them over to her after slicing them into wedges, which she poured into the pot where a simple stew had been left to simmer. Wordlessly, she stirred the vegetables around, humming under her breath as he stepped away to take a seat at the dining table. Not because he was skiving, of course! She clearly had nothing else left for him to do, and he was more than content to listen to the sweet melody that Miss Hawkeye was quietly crooning along to. 

Deciding that he might as well read through his notes for the day while he waited instead of staring into nothingness, Roy quickly ran back to his room to pick up one of the thinner books that had been assigned to him before returning to the kitchen. Gingerly, he plopped himself down on the chair and began to read. 

“Ugh,” he groaned inaudibly, frustrated. Organic chemistry was, without a doubt, one of the biggest banes of his existence. He might have been proficient in drawing circles, but all of that seemed to go out of the window as soon as it came down to drawing (and _remembering_ ) structural formulas and organic molecules. 

Lost in a flood of information, he hadn’t even realised the bowl of piping hot stew that was placed before him until his stomach growled. “Um…” 

Embarrassed, Roy hastily pushed his book aside. “Thank you, Miss Hawkeye,” he said, accepting the bowl with gratitude. He only barely managed to stifle a moan when the first spoonful passed his mouth - God, it was delicious! Normally, he would’ve balked just at the mere sight of vegetables alone, but Miss Hawkeye somehow managed to make the stew taste like heaven. Or maybe he was just famished. Either way, Roy continued shoveling stew into his mouth eagerly. “This is really good, by the way!” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. Unlike Roy, she ate her dinner with a lot more finesse, and was only barely halfway through when he was done with his portion. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” he offered, licking a tiny bit of potato off his lips. 

“... What for?” 

“For topping your class,” he grinned. “Wait, I mean, I didn’t peek at your results or anything. I just overheard some… stuff…” he rushed to explain. 

“... Thank you,” she murmured shyly over a spoonful of stew, carefully averting her eyes from him as she did so. Miss Hawkeye didn’t react well to compliments, it seemed. And so Roy wisely refrained from commenting further, electing to change the topic instead. Might as well attempt to further the conversation since she wasn’t running away from him, right? 

“So… what do you like to study?” 

Miss Hawkeye stared at him weirdly like he’d just asked her a deeply personal question. “Why do you ask?” 

“Uh… I’m just curious, I guess.” Roy blinked. Had he crossed the line, read the signs wrongly? 

She bit her lip, as if hesitant to divulge any information, before relenting. “... Literature, history. Anything that’s far-removed from science.” Her last sentence was no louder than a subdued whisper. Roy might’ve missed it if he weren’t listening so attentively, but he had a feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. 

“That’s nice. I enjoy literature and history quite a fair bit myself, too.” 

“... Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” he grinned brightly. “What’ve you been reading these days, then?” 

“… I’m reading this book about a young orphan who moves to a farming village,” she offered concisely. Roy waited for her to continue, leaning slightly over his bowl with patient encouragement. “But she hates her red hair because of certain… stereotypes, which are rather unjustified if you ask me.” 

Miss Hawkeye must _really_ enjoy literature, he thought. That was probably the longest sentence he’d ever heard from her, and she’d even offered her opinion without any verbal prompting. “That does sound like quite an interesting story. Very relatable, too,” he chuckled, somewhat amused at the irony now that all the anger he’d felt in the afternoon had dissipated. 

Her eyes widened. Realisation dawned upon her then, which quickly morphed into mortification and - and _fear?_ “I - I do apologise, Mister Mustang. I didn’t mean to -” 

“No, no, not at all,” Roy reassured hurriedly. She looked like she was on the verge of _fleeing,_ as though she was terrified that she’d deeply offended him somehow. “It’s okay, I’m really not upset at all. I promise. I was the one who asked, after all.” He made sure to keep his grin securely in place to demonstrate his sincerity, although his own heart was throbbing painfully against his chest. Goodness, he’d never seen her look so scared of him before! Roy fervently hoped that any marginal progress they’d made today hadn’t gone straight to nihility. 

“Maybe… and only if you don’t mind, of course - could I borrow the book when you’re done with it?” he ventured to ask, in an attempt to break the strained silence that had fallen upon them once more. 

“... Sure,” she relented, though she still refused to look him in the eye. His shoulders slumped dejectedly. Had he messed up, again? How was he going to explain this to Aunt Chris, to Emily, and to the rest of his sisters if they asked? Oh, we seemed to be making some headway, _finally,_ but then I laughed at something she said which I thought was kinda funny, and scared her away again? 

They would skin him alive for laughing at such inappropriate timing, no doubt. 

“... What about you?” 

“Huh?” Roy looked up from his empty bowl once more, interrupted from his momentary deluge of self-pity. 

She cleared her throat. “What have _you_ been reading, I mean.” 

“Oh!” So he hadn’t screwed up, after all! “Er, I’ve been reading the abridged version of _The Romance of the Three Kingdoms_.” Noting the confusion on her face, he sought to elaborate further. “It’s a Xingese classic of sorts. My aunt forced me to read it because she says I need to be better acquainted with my own roots, but it’s… quite a nightmare to get through, if you ask me. I don’t even know how to begin explaining what it’s about.” 

Her lips twitched upwards in the slightest hint of a half-smile when he said this, like she could empathise with what he’d said. 

And just then, the large grandfather clock down the hallway chimed loudly. They jumped in their seats, startled by the sudden interruption, but Roy found himself pleasantly surprised. _Nine o’clock._ Had so much time passed since he’d come down? He’d never thought it possible to talk to Miss Hawkeye for any longer than a few seconds, maybe a couple of minutes if she was in an exceptionally talkative mood, but their interaction had gone well beyond an _hour_. No, two hours, in fact. 

Surely this was nothing short of a miracle! 

“I should start washing up,” she whispered, already gathering the empty crockery in her hands to bring them over to the sink. Emboldened by the time they’d spent talking, he followed suit, and began doing the dishes before she could even so much utter a word of protest. “... Thank you, Mister Mustang.” 

“Thank _you_ for dinner, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy smiled. “Are you… are you going to be okay?” He asked tentatively, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. 

“What do you mean?”

“School and all, I mean. After what happened today -” 

“I’ll be okay,” she interrupted softly. He remained unconvinced, but otherwise didn’t probe further. 

“But…” Her scrubbing stopped. “Please don’t mention anything about it to my father.” Roy always had the feeling that there was something… strange, strained about their relationship…

And she’d just confirmed his suspicions. “I won’t,” he promised sincerely. 

~x~ 

Roy stretched languidly in his room after the warm, comforting shower before plonking down on the chair. It had been an interesting day, alright. Though slightly disappointed that he didn’t even get to go to the bakery in the end (because that hot bean bread smelt heavenly), he was nonetheless thankful for the progress he’d made today with Miss Hawkeye. 

Then there were his newfound acquaintances, too. They seemed nice enough, and he hoped he would get a chance to interact with them more. He might have had the chance to get to know the younger girl a little better today, but she was still inclined to keep him at a distance. It seemed highly unlikely, therefore, that they’d become bosom buddies anytime soon. 

Speaking of Miss Hawkeye... perhaps he could ask the little group he’d met today for a favour or two in exchange for offering to fix their things, or something? Just so he wouldn’t be held liable if anything else happened to her while she was out of his sight, of course. Technically, she _did_ say she’d be okay, and her stone-throwing skills were probably terrifying enough to scare people away. But he wasn’t sure if the little stunt she’d pulled earlier today would elicit further hostility from the bully who’d confronted her. 

Sighing, Roy decided that he would just have to wait and see. It wasn’t any of his business - _okay,_ maybe it was (according to Aunt Chris), but he doubted she would take to him meddling in her affairs kindly. In a visible manner, at least. 

Now if only he could ask his aunt and sisters for a tip or two about engaging in covert operations… 

Stifling a yawn, he opened his textbooks again, groaning inwardly at the thought of having to come face-to-face with organic chemistry once more. But there was no escaping it, sadly. It was an inevitable part of the study of alchemy, and while he hated it with every cell in his body he was determined to excel. Roy wanted to become a brilliant alchemist - one who was revered by everyone. He would come up with his own indecipherable research one day; have an equation or two named after him, and everyone would whisper his name with awe and admiration. But first he had to finish his homework. 

All was going well. Roy had been scribbling diligently in his notebook as he studied through the night, flipping through the materials back and forth to test himself. He’d been so intensely focused on the given material, given the difficulty of the subject matter, until… 

Until the disconcerting sound of glass shattering broke his concentration. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to what book Riza was referring to? xD I thought it was somewhat fitting for Roy's situation, though, and I needed to insert that little scene to show Riza that he’s just a harmless little bean. I made him read Romance of the Three Kingdoms because I, too, was forced to read it when I was like, thirteen? Fourteen? Sadly I didn’t get through the whole thing because my Xingese sucks HAHA.  
> Also, ugh. I actually really liked chemistry until we got to organic chemistry… then everything went up in flames, literally. No one should trust me with magnesium ribbons.
> 
> Anyway, I've been having a bit of writer's block recently, and I've been feeling like my writing is rather... sigh T_T but I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Leave a comment if you have the time, I'd love to hear what you think :) 
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on Tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs ^_^


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